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AGAMEMNON 


AGAMEMNON 

AFTER  THE  GREEK  OF 
1  ^SCHYLVS 
BY 

LOCKE  ELLIS 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND   HOWE 

1920 


?A 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA 


Age 


Agamemnon. 

ClYTEMNESTRA.  /  V>  rS 

Cassandra. 

Aegisthus. 

A  Watchman. 

A  Herald,  Talthybius. 

Chorus  of  Old  Men  of  Argos,  Councillors. 

Followers  of  Agamemnon,  Clytemnestra,  Aegisthus. 

PERSONS  ALLUDED  TO 

Atreus,  father  of  Agamemnon.     His  House  is  also  referred 

to  as  that  of  Pelops ;  Tantalus. — Brother  to 
Thyestes,  to  whom  Atreus  gave  to  eat  of  his  own  children's 

flesh.     Aegisthus  was  his  surviving  son. 
Iphigeneia,   daughter  of    Clytemnestra   and  Agamemnon, 

offered  in  sacrifice  by  her  father  on  the    eve   of   the 

expedition  to  Troy. 
Priam,  King  of  Troy,  father  of  Cassandra  and  of 
Paris    (Alexander),   who  provoked   the   war   by   carrying 

off 
Helen,  the  wife  of 
Menelaus,  brother  of  Agamemnon. 
Calchas,  a  soothsayer. 
Ate,  Erynnus,  are  avenging  deities,  or  Furies. 


522^>Vf) 


AGAMEMNON 

Scene  :  Argos,  before  the  palace  of  the  Atreida  ;  night. 

Watchman 

My  watch  on  Atreus'  roof,  crouched  like  a  dog, 

I  keep.     Beseech  ye  gods,  is  there  no  end  ? 

Labour  of  years,  I  know  the  heavens  by  heart, 

The  stars'  assembled  state,  revolving  on 

The  event  of  summer  heat  or  winter  cold, 

The  human  year  through.     By  their  signs  I  know, 

Splendours  of  rising  or  of  setting  ;  stars 

Burning  in  ether.     But  the  sign  I  seek 

Is  earthly  kindled  fire,  the  torch  of  Troy, 

Her  blaze  of  capture.     With  so  eager  heart, 

Impatient  of  the  event,  set  me  this  task 

A  woman,  masterful  enough.     And  now, 

Night-chilFd   and  drench'd  with   dew  my   cheerless 

couch. 
Not  in  the  happy  company  of  dreams. 
Instead  of  sleep  which  bringeth  them,  the  dread 
Of  heavy-lidded  sleep  stands  ever  here. 
And  should  I  wisely  think  with  wakeful  song 

7 


To  batter  sleepy  silence,  then  the  theme 

Is  sorrow  of  the  house  I  serve  ;  tears  then 

For  chance  the  good  once  was  and  is  not  now, 

May  be  again.    And  that  evangel  fire, 

In  darkling  night  imagined,  it  might  be 

The  end  at  last.     But  is  it — is  it  not 

The  end  at  last  ?     But  see — it  is  no  dream, 

It  dawns  as  never  day,  and  shoots  the  flame 

Argos  shall  dance  to.     Hail,  0  hail !   Shout,  call, 

'Tis  Agamemnon's  wife  I  summon,  swift 

As  chamber  of  sleep  can  yield  her,  to  proclaim 

The  essential  feast  of  sound.    Taken  is  Troy; 

So  saith  the  torch  and  fiery  blazon.    Mine 

This  prelude,  dancing  ;  mine  the  lucky  sice 

Whose  triple  cast  hath  turned  to  a  master's  good 

The  watchful  stake.     And  mine  the  glory,  when 

On  these  worthless  those  honoured  hands  and  dear 

Are  laid,  of  him  who  hath  returned  to  us. 

— But  best  let  silence  tread  upon  the  tongue. 

As  an  ox  treadeth  surely.     If  these  walls 

Could  speak,  'twere  with  discretion,  and  so  I 

To  them  which  know,  and  unto  others,  naught. 

Chorus 

Ten  years  of  Troy.    Hath  Priam  to  this  length 
Held  Menelaus,  Agamemnon's  strength 
At  indecision  of  the  Dardan  field  ? 
To  foes  like  these  not  yield  ! 
8 


Twin-sceptred,  dual-throned  Mycenian  line 

Of  Pelops'  race  divine,  ^ 

Who  from  these  shores  charged  the  reluctant  gale 

With  keels  of  battle  of  a  thousand  sail, 

God  Ares  in  his  might. 

Behold  the  birds  of  famine,  flight  on  flight. 

Winnowing  with  wings  for  scourge 

The  unstable  element  and  mountain  gorge. 

Some  towering  fate  to  the  dark  winds  hath  flung 

Their  shattered  aeries  and  their  screaming  young  ; 

Labour  of  nesting  vain. 

Hear  now  in  heaven  the  parent  host  complain. 

— Yea,  one  in  heaven  hath  heard. 

Is  it  Zeus,  or  Pan,  or  calm  Apollo's  word 

Upon  that  trespass  bold 

Flings   judgment   down   and   vengeance   mused   of 

old? 
— Yea,  it  is  Zeus,  the  lawgiver  of  souls, 
Who  this  offence  controls, 
And  hath  against  the  state  of  Paris  hurled 
The  two-throned  Argive  world. 
For  sacrifice  of  fame 

Of  many-suitored  queen  of  Argive  name, 
Danaan  and  Trojan  arm 
Alike  through  the  tempestuous  alley  swarm 
Of  battle's  close  embrace. 
The  warrior  stumbles  in  the  bloody  race, 
The  splintered  spear-shaft  flies. 
And  in  the  dust  he  gropes  and  in  the  dust  he  dies. ' 

9 


> 
Let  be  as  hath  been.     All  is  thus  fulfilled 
As  the  Relentless  willed. 
No  stagnant  ritual 

Of  blood  or  ancient  embers  shall  recall, 
Nor  with  dark  tears  importunate 
The  once-befallen  fate. 

And  we — the  unelect  and  old  even  then, 
Even  when  these  battle-worn  set  sail,  old  men  ; 
Too  old  for  service  we,  when  younger  brood 
Set  sail  for  Troas  ;  and  the  life  they  gave 
Remains  with  us,  pasturing  with  crutch  and  stave 
The  childlike  remnant  of  our  hardihood. 
For  childlike  'tis,  and  childlike  seemeth  too 
This  old  age  in  the  deeds  it  dreams  to  do. 
Wanting  but  Ares'  limbs.     Like  death,  like  birth. 
Ours  are  the  infirm  feet  of  infant  earth. 
But  for  the  flower  that  is  not.     And  so  seem 
Dreams  of  our  company,  ourselves  a  dream. 

—But  thou 

Tyndareus'  daughter  ! — now 

Comes  Clytemnestra  near. 

O  Queen,  to  us  make  clear 

What  news  of  fame 

Into  thy  councils  came, 

That  a  city,  pouring  through  her  streets. 

Snuffs  rumour,  mulled  with  burning  sweets 

From  the  close  temple-ways. 

Lo  now,  ablaze 

10 


With  happy  gift  set  there, 

Kindles  the  altar  fair 

Of  deity  ;  and  manifold, 

Other  and  other  sacrifice  behold. 

Whether  Olympian  or  rustic  name 

Or  urban  god  his  victim  claim, 

Each  holy  hearth  shines  clear. 

Now  torch- bearers  appear, 

With  their  cold  brands  they  stir 

Rich  temple  provender. 

The  oil-vat  of  the  priest. 

Soon  the  drugged  flame,  surceased, 

Drops  in  the  dark  abyss, 

And  Hke  spilt  sorceries 

The  clots  of  burning  fall 

Red  on  the  pale  processional. 

— But  thou, 

0  Queen,  if  thou  may'st  speak,  speak  now, 

And  what  thou  knowest  share 

With  us,  and  if  our  prayer 

Frustrate  not  heaven. 

Be  thou  unto  our  darkness  given 

Paean  ;   and  to  our  doubts  again 

Paean,  for  these  are  pain. 

Uncertainty ! 

What  if  there  dwell  with  thee 
Hope,  and  a  vision  fair  ? 
Redoubled  is  our  care, 
II 


Once  we  have  missed  those  beams, 

And  darker  the  surrounding  of  our  dreams. 

Of  human  fate 

This  passage  splendid  to  relate, 

This  tale  of  kings, 

Me  to  the  muses'  godlike  summit  brings. 

My  spirit's  dawn,  the  worshipful,  the  pure 

Shall  to  that  epic  day  endure. 

And  no  less  strong, 

I  too  will  lead  earth  captive  with  my  song. 

— Hear,  then  ;  in  name  of  vengeance  be  it  told, 
How  those  relentless  guards  of  Hellas'  fold 
Gathered  of  helm  and  spear  a  vast  command. 
And  fell  on  Teucrian  land. 
— -Who  bade  them  fall. 

Brought  Hellas  to  this  charge  ?     What  oracle  ? 
— A  flight  of  furious  wings 
Drops  by  the  sea-encampment  of  the  kings. 
Seen  from  the  tents  afar 
The  kings  of  air  and  arbiters  of  war. 
Black  eagle  and  white-tailed,  a  ruthless  pair. 
Their  living  prey,  the  pregnant  hare. 
Victim  of  a  despairing  race,  oppress 
With  talons  merciless. 
And  beaks  that  re-entomb 
The  smoking  burthen  of  her  womb. 
12 


Sing  Linos,  Linos  sing. 

For  Sorrow's  song  is  Hope's  unburthening. 

The  holy  Seer, 

High  priest  of  armies,  their  interpreter, 

The  baleful  eagle-portent  laid 

On  Atreus'  sons.     Interpreting,  he  said  : 

"  Far-off,  perchance,  and  yet  the  day  must  come 

When  towered  Ilium 

Unto  this  conquest  yields 

Her  city  and  tribute  fields. 

Only  let  not  the  cloud  of  lightning  fall, 

Nor  hazardous  god  his  arsenal 

Hurl  on  these  armies  bold, 

Encincture  of  the  Troyan  hold, 

These  armies  fair. 

Which  like  a  curb  the  Troyan  masters  bear. 

For  Artemis, 

Intolerant  as  she  is 

Of  the  wing'd  hunters  of  her  father's  house. 

Furies  of  pity  rouse, 

And  names  of  hatred  call. 

At  that  foul  banquet  ended,  young  and  all." 

— Sing  Linos,  Linos  sing. 

For  Sorrow's  song  is  Hope's  unburthening. 

**  But  she  who  loves 

The  nurseries  of  the  groves, 

13 


Where  the  mother  of  the  wild 

Bestows  her  urchin  child, 

Even  the  couched  lioness, 

She,  Artemis,  some  theme  of  kindliness 

And  good  in  midst  of  omen'd  ill, 

Will  labour  to  fulfil. 

**  Only  give  heed.  Paean  of  Prayer, 

Lest  the  dread  Goddess  new  perils  prepare, 

Which  must  a  new  propitiation  find. 

Tempest  and  enemy  wind  : 

For  these  the  childlike  victim  bleeds. 

Frenzy  of  wrath  succeeds, 

The  home-besetting 

Mother-vengeance  unforgetting. 

Never  husband-love  recaUing 

Worked  in  secret  and  on  nearest  falling." 

— Thus  Calchas,  Orator  of  doom. 

The  Sons  of  Atreus  in  the  listening  gloom 

Attend  that  voice  again. 

Of  hope  and  dread  the  mixed  refrain  : 

' — Sing  Linos,  Linos  sing. 

For  Sorrow's  song  is  Hope's  unburthening. 

— Zeus  !     If  on  Zeus  I  call. 

What  God  heareth  ?     Is  it  the  Lord  of  all, 

H 


Like  unto  whom  is  none,  and  none  the  same  ? 

— None  other  would  I  name, 

But  from  the  mind  cast  forth 

The  imponderable  worth 

Of  lesser  deity  ;  yea,  whatsoe'er 

The  image  idly  there ; 

Whether  with  aspect  huge  of  dead  renown 

Blind  face  of  Chaos  frown, 

Or  Chronos,  heir  to  that  unstable  rule, 

Feel  his  immoderate  godhead  cool. 

Last  tyrant  in  the  elemental  war 

To  own  a  conqueror ; 

Reason  the  victor  God  prefers. 

For  he  is  just,  and  just  his  worshippers. 

Yea,  it  is  Zeus  brings  back  to  wisdom's  way 

The  foolish  feet  that  stray  ; 

Outlaws  of  guilty  pain 

On  whom  long  time  hath  lain 

The  curse  of  the  lost  theme 

Of  innocence,  an  evil  dream 

Of  devious  path  and  never-found  content. 

That  the  unwilling  spirit  at  last  is  bent 

To  the  fixed  purpose  of  his  fate. 

Mild,  but  reiterate. 

Indissoluble  word. 

The  sentence  of  great  gods  is  heard, 

15 


As  it  were  charity  that  falls 
From  the  high  table  of  their  judgment  halls  ; 
Wisdom,  the  great  gods*  gift  to  balance  pain, 
Sad  lustre  of  their  patient  reign. 

—  An  end  of  soothsaying  ; 

And  now,  fearless  of  fate,  arose  the  King. 

The  ships  at  mooring  stood 

By  Aulis,  whence  the  flood 

Rolls  back  on  Calchis,  and  from  Strymon's  mouth 

Recoils,  and  empties  into  drouth 

His  waste  and  stagnant  streams. 

Now  the  hollow  gulf  beteems 

With  starving  winds,  that  vex  the  adverse  shore. 

Ships  may  not  sail,  their  counted  store 

Dwindles,  they  may  not  fill  the  vat. 

And  eke  the  mealy  bin  nor  that 

Which  too  long  waiting  makes  in  vain. 

The  cargo  of  their  hopes  again, 

— So  much  had  Calchas  said  ; 
The  inclement  Goddess'  name  with  dread 
Preferred,  and  showed  which  way  the  fateful  blast 
And  wintry  hazard  fell.    The  monarchs  cast 
Their  sceptres  to  the  ground  ;  tears  could  not  hide. 
And  now  the  Elder  and  the  Father  cried  : 

"  0  death  of  hope  !     If  the  alternative 
Were  only  not  to  live. 

i6 


But  to  be  this,  the  slayer  of  my  child, 

My  household  grace  to  see  defiled 

With  her  own  blood  ;   a  father's  hand  to  take 

That  stain  !  Yet  what  ?   Shall  I  forsake 

My  kingdom,  and  her  allies'  hopes  defeat  ? 

What,  I,  first  captain  of  the  fleet, 

Its  grand  deserter  prove  ?     No.    This  way  lies 

By  tempest-lulling  sacrifice 

Of  maiden-death,  a  forward  path. 

Wrath  leads  that  way,  but  all  ways  lead  to  wrath." 

— So  he  put  on  the  harness  of  his  fate. 
Made  trial  of  the  weight 
Of  shameful  counsel,  and  became 
Himself  a  counsellor  of  shame. 
For  like  a  change  of  tempest-boding  wind 
To  mortal  mind. 
Suggestion  first  breathed  in 
Grows  to  the  fury  and  the  act  of  sin. 
— See  now  to  slay  his  child 
The  father  reconciled, 
That  ships  may  aid 
The  vengeful  wars  that  women  made. 
And  spread  on  speeding  gales 
Their  festival  of  sails, 
He  to  the  heartless  lords  of  strife 
Makes  over  that  dear  life. 
No  reckoning  theirs 

Of  startled  childhood's  tears  or  daughter's  prayers. 
B  17 


Nay,  it  is  he,  the  father,  gives  command 

To  them  that  be  at  hand, 

Following  the  priestly  service  round 

To  pitch  of  temple-sound, 

In  order  of  blood-ritual,  instead 

Of  kid,  at  the  great-altar  head, 

The  body  of  maiden-sacrifice  to  lift. 

See  from  her  upraised  form  the  garments  drift, 

Her  scarf  of  crocus  dye. 

But  they  have  caught  the  struggling  cry, 

Which  ere  it  left  those  lovely  lips 

Had  called  down  doom  and  night's  eclipse 

Upon  that  house  of  blood.    The  last 

Despairing  look  is  on  her  tyrants  cast. 

Pity  she  seemeth  still  to  seek, 

Her  eyes  say  what  her  lips  would  speak, 

As  in  a  picture.     Nevermore 

Will  she  appear  her  father's  guests  before. 

The  darhng  of  his  pride. 

As  when  in  high  hall,  fondly  by  his  side, 

The  third  libation  past  and  song  begun. 

With  right  good  will,  most  loved  and  innocent  one, 

She  did  her  clear  and  childish  voice  upraise 

In  his  dear  praise. 

— As  Calchas  said,  so  it  befell. 
If  of  the  future  we  would  tell, 
l8 


This  prophet-listening  brings  the  scale  to  rest 

At  silence.    There's  a  Wisdom  doth  attest 

The  ranging  of  our  sight, 

And  still  from  daily  light 

Doth  hide  all  but  the  issue  of  a  day. 

Still  we  can  weigh 

The  good  that  is  with  what  may  be. 

— The  Queen  approaches.     She 

May  still  some  part  of  good  prefer, 

And  Argos  still  for  guidance  look  to  her. 

[Enter  Clytemnestra  from  the  palace. 

Chorus 

— Queen  Clytemnestra,  great  as  are  thy  cares 
In  the  long-lasting  absence  of  the  king. 
So  great  the  duty  that  we  owe  to  thee. 
Therefore,  that  thou  enlighten  us,  we  crave, 
Not  importunely,  but  with  patience  even  ; 
Why  hast  thou  thus  ordained  a  festival ; 
What  tidings,  of  what  happy  consequence, 
Dost  thou  possess  ? 

Clytemnestra 

This  is  the  hour  of  dawn. 
And  if  I  tell  you  tidings,  'tis  to  say. 
This  is  the  dawn  of  our  long  night  of  hope. 
What  more  ?     Shall  I  say  then  that  Priam's  city 
Hath  unto  Argos  fallen  ? 

19 


Chorus 

This  if  thou  saidst, 
Mine  ears  could  scarce  receive. 

Clytemnestra 

Hear  it  again. 
Troy  falls  to  us. 

Chorus 

O,  then,  mine  eyes  are  dim. 
This,  this  is  news. 

Clytemnestra* 
0  yes,  you  weep  for  joy. 

Chorus 
A  proof  of  this,  0  queen  ;  some  witness,  sign — 

Clytemnestra 
Why  should  the  gods  mock  us  ? 

Chorus 

Was  it  a  dream  ? 
A  visitant  of  sleep  too  credulous  ? 

Clytemnestra 

Am  I  a  visionary,  so  to  be 
Beguiled  ? 

20 


Chorus 
Some  rumour  thou  hast  ta'en  for  truth. 


Clytemnestra 


So  childish,  I  ? 


Chorus 
Nay,  then  ;  when  fell  the  city  ? 

Clytemnestra 
This  night — the  mother  of  this  dawn. 

Chorus 

None  could 
Have  brought  the  news  so  soon. 

Clytemnestra 

What  of  the  fire 
— Hephaistus'  signal,  first  on  Ida  sprung, 
And  hither  westward  journeying,  destined  torch 
Of  courient  flame  ;  instant  in  Lemnos,  soon 
In  Athos  streaming  from  the  peak  of  god, 
And  lighting  on  the  mounds  of  Thracian  seas 
Like  drifts  of  dawn  to  the  Euboean  shore, 
Makistus'  watchers  there.     Sleepless  they  rise, 
And  set  in  train  those  sentinels  of  light 
That  wink  across  the  dark  and  inland  strait, 
Messapius  opposite,  his  parched  heaths 

21 


A  crimson  cloud.     Asopus  winds  below 

Through  all  his  valley,  as  in  midnights  when 

Cithaeron's  moon  sinks  westerly  upon 

His  height  divine.     On,  on  those  beacons  spread, 

And  now  the  lake  Gorgopis  overpast, 

And  ^giplanctus'  summit  fired,  therefrom 

The  torrent  flame,  blown  like  a  giant's  beard, 

Brushes  the  walls  of  Saron's  ferry  ;  thence 

Arachnaeus  not  far,  whose  kindly  heights 

Our  neighbour  and  familiar  vision  fill. 

The  light  that  lingers  yet  is  Ida's  own. 

And  Troy  burns  here.     This  is  the  sign  I  give. 

And  by  the  statutes  of  the  torch-racers. 

One  from  another  catching  speed  of  light, 

So  that  the  last  is  first, — this  is  the  word 

My  lord  hath  sent  me,  out  of  Troy. 

Chorus 

For  this 
We'll  praise  the  gods  in  due  time,  save  that  now 
Not  one  word  would  we  lose  of  this  great  theme. 
Beseech  you,  with  your  tidings  to  the  end. 

Clytemnestra 

Methinks  I  hear  the  captured  city  voice 
Confusion.    Well,  the  elements  make  not 
For  peace.    Victor  and  vanquished,  vinegar 
And  oil — as  soon  would  they  assort  within 

22 


The  crucible.    Hark — 'tis  the  living  seek 
Their  dead.   Soon  chains  shall  rack  the  sobbing  throats. 
After  the  night  of  stubborn  battle,  men 
Would  break  their  fast ;   a  weary  soldiery 
Camp  in  the  streets  and  eat  the  bread  of  chance. 
Happy,  for  they  have  roof  for  dwelling  now  ; 
No  more  black  watch  and  meagre  rest  beneath 
The  tentless  cold  of  heaven,  and  they  will  be 
As  housed  men,  their  sleep  unsentinePd. 
But  let  them  not  forget  the  native  gods 
To  hold  in  awe,  that  victors  in  their  turn 
Become  not  captives  of  a  wrath  revealed 
To  the  inflamed  eyes  of  sacrilege. 
And  spoilers  of  the  sacred  field.     Enough. 
Race  so  near  home  must  be  run  to  the  end. 
Yet — if  it  otherwise  befell,  and  if 
The  army  had  escaped — still  there  are  those 
On  whom  the  penalty,  though  long  delayed 
Must  fall.     Well,  these  are  woman's  words  you  hear, 
S  And  may  the  issue  be  more  plain  to  see  ; 
The  good  for  choice,  and  my  choice  over  all.  > 

Chorus 
0,  manlike  as  thou  speakest ;  taking  sign 
From  thee,  I  will  approach  the  gods,  assured 
Of  grace  enough  to  foil  disaster. 

0  Zeus  !   thy  h'ght  we  see, 

And  Night,  thou  marshal  of  eternity, 

23 


Who  didst  within  thy  starry  net  enfold  ] 

The  towered  Troyan  hold.  '  I 

— That  now,  of  all  j 

Who  in  those  meshes  captive  lay,  j 

None  who  was  mighty  then,  and  none  so  small 

But  in  the  sack  of  doom  is  borne  away. 

For  this  acclaim 

Zeus,  whose  vengeful  thunder's  flame, 

To  the  instant  golden 

Of  starry  time  withhold  en, 

A  bolt  infalHble 

On  Alexander  fell. 

Its  journey  from  the  place 

Of  thunder  ye  may  trace 

To  the  lightning  fall.  v 

'Tis  said,  withal, 

That  heaven-begotten  wrath 

Disdains  to  follow  in  the  path 

Of  man's  deluded  choice. 

List  not,  'tis  error's  voice. 

Wiser  their  children  are. 

Whose  fathers,  plotting  in  the  realms  of  war 

Carried  beyond  its  place 

The  swollen  scutcheon  of  their  race ; 

Whose  faithful  service,  lent 

Only  to  enterprise  of  fair  intent, 

Had  never  failed.    But  earthly  gain 

Little  avails  that  tyrant  whose  brute  reign 

24 


spurns  the  mild  sanctities  of  justice.     Him 

Doth  frenzy  dim 

Of  an  ancestral  impulse  bend 

To  the  resistless  end. 


The  irremediable  blight 

Of  nature  maketh  in  the  light 

A  baleful  showing,  as  beneath 

His  hand,  the  burnisher  discovereth 

An  ill-mixed  bronze,  a  metal  base. 

The  people  of  his  race 

Take  up  the  burden  of  their  lord's  defeat. 

When  from  her  cage  the  fleet 

Captive,  wild  hope,  hath  flown, 

And  remedy  is  none. 

But  echo  far  the  cries 

Of  passion's  children,  in  derisive  skies. 

— None  other,  but  the  same 

Was  Paris,  when  he  came, 

Guest,  to  entreat  in  shameful  sort  the  spouse 

Of  host. 

She,  from  her  husband's  house 
Fugitive,  in  her  ear 
Clashing  of  shield  and  spear, 
Ships  lading  war,  hath  come 
With  doom  for  dower,  to  Ilium  ; 
Daring,  0  greatly  daring,  she, 
The  tongues  of  prophecy 

25 


Not  silent ;  woe,  they  cry. 

Woe  to  the  house  and  them  that  stand  thereby. 

For  errant  love,  the  trespass  that  effaced 

Fair  paths  of  memory  traced 

By  married  feet.     Who  now  remembers  him. 

Alone  in  palace  dim. 

When  griefs  dumb  scourge  and  whispered  ban 

Speak  more  than  words  of  desolation  can  ; 

And  troubled  as  with  seaward  dreams 

The  phantom-rule  of  silence  seems, 

And  mourns  a  queen's  departed  grace. 

Image  of  her  in  sculptured  face 

Intolerable  appears. 

And  love  himself  a  mask  of  famine  wears. 

The  heavy  eyes  are  famine's. 

Dreams  of  sleep 
Still  lure  those  baffled  wings  to  keep 
The  paths  of  no  return,  and  stay 
The  traveller  at  the  gates  of  day. 
So,  heavier  to  sustain 
Than  sorrow's  self,  those  shapes  of  pain 
Stand  round  the  hearthstone  drear. 
And  worse  than  battle's  brunt  to  bear. 
Against  the  soldier's  citadel  of  home 
Legions  of  trouble  come. 
Pierced  to  the  heart  are  they 
Who  cheered  the  warrior  forth  and  bade  not  stay 
Him  who  should  soon  return. 
But  not  this  funeral-ship,  this  urn, 

26 


These  ashes.     Never  these. 

Yet  what 
Hath  Ares  in  his  balance  ?     Not 
Gold,  no  nor  other  merchandise 
Than  the  white  dust  that  lies 
At  Ilium's  furnace-gates. 
With  this  he  freights 
For  mourners  the  funestral  vessel  cold, 
And  fills  the  vase  of  old 
Renown  ;   such  tribute  theirs 
Who  fall,  but  chiefly  his  who  bears 
The  stroke  of  battle,  sought  in  name 
Of  honour  and  unsullied  fame 
Of  house  and  sacred  home. 
Whether  from  thence  there  come 
Mute  threnody  and  uncomplaint. 
Or  if  rebellious  voices  taint 
The  air  of  praise. 

And  envy  'gainst  the  avengers'  house  inveighs 
And  fair,  forbye. 

The  dead  that  still  in  earth  of  Ilium  lie, 
That  conquered  land,  which  hath 
Its  conquerors  taken  prisoner  in  death's  path. 


If  it  become  a  people's  curse. 

Deadly  is  that  rancour  of  tongues,  and  worse 

To  look  for.     As  night  loads 

The  listening  mind  with  terror,  gods, 

27 


The  avengers  of  blood-guiltiness, 

These  are  not  blind,  nor  less 

Watchful  Erynnus  is  in  her  dark  place, 

Of  fortune's  scale,  quick  to  displace 

The  beam.    When  evil  seems  to  prosper  most, 

The  abyss  receives,  and  all  is  lost ; 

And  sunken  in  heaven's  thunderstroke 

The  ears  that  listened  when  the  flatterer  spoke. 

— Be  mine  no  more  nor  less 

Than  the  unenvied  mean  of  happiness. 

Never  the  stricken  sun 

Which  captive  eyes  look  on. 

Light  my  life's  journey,  nor 

Myself  a  conqueror. 

Fresh  from  the  joyful  flame 
Runs  rumour — whether  in  truth's  name, 
Or  falsehood's,  who  shall  tell  ? 
There  are  false  gods,  as  well. 
But  'tis  a  child,  or  fool,  whose  spirit  fires 
At  kindled  torch  and  with  the  flame  expires. 
^A  woman  'tis,  who  doth  prefer 
To  what  is  true,  that  which  seems  best  to  her, 
And  to  fresh  pasture  flies 
Outside  all  reason's  boundaries. 

^1^^ — Soon  shall  we  know  whether  a  heart  of  truth 
In  this  fable  of  fire,  or  torch  of  dream 
Delight  our  eyes.     Herald  himself  I  see  ; 
28 


Under  the  olive  shadows,  hard  from  shore. 

The  road  returns  to  dust.     Dust  tells  his  speed. 

Swifter  than  flame  of  the  green  mountain  wood, 

And  words  to  come,  clearer  than  smoke  of  fire. 

Rejoice  ;  prepare  all  for  rejoicing  now. 

Or — silent  be  the  word — if  any  speak  it. 

Of  his  faith's  treason  let  him  pluck  the  fruit. 

Herald 

My  native  land  !     The  years  have  past,  the  light 

Of  this  tenth  summer  brings  me  to  thy  shore. 

One  hope,  among  the  many  blighted,  lives. 

If  it  were  hope,  Argos,  that  kept  in  mind 

But  never  dared  to  build  on  thy  dear  soil 

The  allotment  of  a  tomb.     Now  praise  the  earth. 

The  sun,  and  Zeus  the  country's  god,  and  him 

The  Pythian — not  on  us  his  arrows  fall. 

Not  now,  as  once  by  strange  Scamander.     Now 

'Tis  0  Apollo,  Saviour,  Healer,  Lord. 

And  praise  to  other  gods  ;   to  those  of  old 

Arenas  and  the  fields  of  peace.     Him  too. 

The  patron  of  my  life,  the  adored,  the  first 

Of  Heralds,  Hermes.     So  would  I  approach 

The  chiefs  of  our  renown,  whose  spirits  urged 

Ours  to  the  test  of  war,  that  from  the  path 

Of  spear  returned,  they  may  with  grace  receive 

Our  remnant.     Hail,  then,  hearthstone  of  our  race, 

And  palace  of  our  king  ;   as  oft  of  old. 

Sun-spirits  of  the  holy  place  of  home, 

29 


In  order  seasonal,  your  gracious  eyes 
Let  rest  on  him  returned,  to  light  your  dark. 
As  well  as  ours.    Let  all  be  well  that  waits 
For  him,  all  welcome.     Good  it  seems,  for  out 
Of  Justice'  hand — from  Zeus  himself  he  took 
The  spade  that  levelled  Troy.     Remaineth  there 
No  altar,  no  place  for  an  altar,  no 
Life ; — underground  the  seed  of  it  is  dead. 
Such  was  his  word  ;  such  was  the  yoke  he  put 
On  Troy.    Who  else  ?     Elder  of  Atreus'  House, 
Man  happiest  in  his  choice  of  gods — who  else 
Of  mortals  worthier  ?     Not  for  Paris  now 
Is  left  to  boast  the  advantage  his  in  scale 
Of  deed  and  penalty.     He  held  the  stakes, 
And  with  that  forfeit  went  not  he  alone, 
But  home  and  country  and  his  father's  house. 

Chorus 
Hail !  Messenger. 

Herald      ' 

Moment  so  charged  with  joy ! 
I'd  not  gainsay  the  fate  that  slew  me  now. 

Chorus 
So  lovely  seems  thy  native  land  ? 

Herald 

So  fair, 
Tears  come. 

30 


Chorus 
From  us  that  sweet  distemper's  caught. 

Herald 
Plain  words  can  reach  a  child's  heart.     Such  is  mine. 

Chorus 
As  you  were  stricken,  so  were  we. 

Herald 

You  mean    ^ 
The  land  we  longed  for  longed  for  our  return  ? 

Chorus 
With  many  a  sigh,  in  gloom  of  heart.     "^ 

Herald 

Was  heart 
So  strained  ?     And  whence  the  burden  of  it  ? 

Chorus 

lUs 
There  are,  on  which  physician  Silence  waits. 

Herald 

Alarms  that  fill  an  empty  house.    Whence  then 
The  assault  you  feared  ? 

31 


Chorus 

Just  now  you  said 
That  death  were  happiness. 

Herald 

When  all's  well  done, 
As  must  be  true  at  last.    To  tell  the  worst 
Is  but  to  say  that  of  the  enterprise 
A  part  went  wrong.     Better  than  this  may  be. 
There  are  gods,  doubtless  they  know.     My  story's  one 
Of  hardship  ;    meagre  fare  aboard  and  ill 
Lodging  ashore,  if  harbour  made  at  all. 
No  day  of  grateful  memory  to  break 
The  luckless  process.     Then,  to  come  to  land, 
To  bed  outside  the  foeman's  walls  upon 
The  aguish  earth,  beneath  the  watering  skies. 
Soon  marish-like,  with  matted  clothes  and  hair, 
We  grew  foul  creatures.    Winter  cold,  the  same 
That  laid  the  small  birds  dead  in  Ida's  snow ; 
And  heat,  as  when  the  breathless  waters  even 
Swooned  to  the  noonday  tropic  and  became 
A  waveless  hush  upon  a  muted  shore. 
But  why  take  up  old  burdens  in  the  tale 
Of  things  ended  ?     The  dead  themselves  have  made 
An  end  of  all  desire  to  live  again, 
And  shall  they  die  again  in  our  report  ? 
There  is  enough  on  the  fair  side  the  scale. 
Balm  for  survivors,  over  land  and  sea 

32 


Flying  with  eager  hearts  towards  some  goal 

And  residue  of  good,  as  seemly  is, 

In  the  still  shining  sunlight  of  their  day. 

Remains  to  us  on  Hellas'  temple  walls 

To  fix  the  seal  and  the  eternal  fame 

Of  Troy  captured.     And  they  who  gaze  thereon 

Will  praise  our  land,  our  leaders  and  our  god, 

Who  brought  these  things  to  pass.     I  have  said  all. 

Chorus 

Who  shall  gainsay  ?     Not  I,  for  unto  age 
Fair  knowledge  ever  brings  a  spirit  of  youth. 
But  first  the  King's  house — Clytemnestra  first 
Let  touch  this  gift  of  fame.     Then  may  we  taste. 

Clytemnestra 

When  on  the  night's  horizon  first  appeared 
The  writ  of  Troy  in  flames,  did  I  delay 
Pasan  ?     Already  is  the  city  awake. 
One  said  to  me,  a  trick  of  flame,  forsooth. 
Can  on  a  woman's  mind  project  this  folly, 
And  stand  for  Trojan  fall.     Enough  was  said 
To  prove  me  mad.     Yet  unto  sacrifice 
Did  I  proceed,  the  while  with  fair  address 
My  women  went  the  temple  round  and  fed 
With  sweets  the  hungry  censers  lapping  flame. 
— Herald,  I  have  no  need  of  your  report ; 
My  lord's  own  words  shall  satisfy  me  soon. 

c  33 


Howbeit,  do  aught  you  know  to  speed  him  ;  say 

His  city  awaits  his  coming ;   say,  his  queen. 

To  her — to  woman — never  sight  more  fair 

Than  this  of  prosperous  gods  and  opening  gates 

Upon  the  homeward  road  of  war.     And  then, 

For  him,  returned  at  last,  who  left  his  house 

In  faithful  keeping,  dog-like  faith  to  find, 

And  battle  done  with  trespass  ;  undisturbed 

The  seal  he  fastened  for  inviolate  time. 

I  know  not  ill,  and  the  repute  of  ill 

Touching  another  man  leaves  me  unstained 

As  metal  dipped  in  dye.     Truth  to  the  brim 

Pours  out  my  boastful  cup.     Who'd  flinch  from  it  ? 

No  woman  of  my  race. 

Chorus 

Interpreter 
Of  words — hear  these  ;  she  speaks  them  well ;  there's 

much 
To  learn  of  her.     But  tell  me.  Herald, — 'tis 
Of  Menelaus  that  I  ask — has  he. 
The  joint  desire  of  all  our  people,  part 
In  your  return  ? 

•  Herald 

I  would  not,  if  I  could. 
Dress  out  ill  news  as  fair  ;  fruit  that  would  rot 
Soon  as  you  plucked  it. 

34 


Chorus 

And  the  good  you  told 
Lose  virtue  of  truth.     So  to  divorce  from  truth 
Helps  not  to  hide. 

Herald 

He's  gone,  then,  whom  you  said. 
He  and  his  crew  out  of  our  sight  are  gone. 

Chorus 

What,  from  the  field  of  war,  from  Troas  shore 
Set  earlier  sail  ?     Or  from  the  common  fleet 
Did  tempest  gulf  him  ? 

Herald 

That,  a  goodly  aim, 
Cuts  off  betimes  the  unwilling  story. 

Chorus 

Yet 
Some  tale  of  life  or  death  must  be  to  tell. 
What  say  the  shipmen  ? 

Herald 

What  avails  to  say, 
When  none  knows  anything  ?     Unless  the  Sun 
Of  earth,  the  cherisher  of  life,  should  know 
His  foster-children. 

35 


Chorus 

By  what  malice,  then, 
Inhuman,  came  the  storm,  and  ended  how  ? 


Herald 

I  would  not  mar  the  day  of  auspices 

With  other  tales  than  good.    There  are  other  gods ; 

As  when  the  herald  of  defeated  camps, 

Visaged  with  those  disasters,  to  his  city  bears 

Arms  of  calamity  ;  the  wound  of  state 

Envenoming  the  private  wounds  of  war. 

A  deathly  curse  it  is  the  stifled  dirge 

Erynnus  has  to  sing ;   not  saviour  deeds. 

Not  Victory  when  it  comes.    And  with  the  tale 

Of  peace,  how  should  I  blend  a  stormful  strain  ? 

— Yet  be  it  said,  the  end  found  troubles  still, 

And  gods  not  all  appeased.     Since,  foes  before, 

Water  and  Fire  made  peace  between  them,  us 

Wretched,  to  overthrow.     By  night  it  came, 

Tempest  upon  the  sea,  unloading  winds 

Of  Thrace,  like  bellowing  herds  upon  us,  ship 

Foundering  on  ship  in  smoking  surges  pent 

And  blind.    Mad  shepherd  drove  our  flock  that  night. 

And  dawn  that  day,  dawn  on  the  -^gean  field, 

That  ready  seemed  for  harvest,  flowering 

With  many  a  drowned  corpse  and  floating  spar ; 

While  we  and  our  miraculous  vessel  rode 

In  some  divine  security,  our  helm 

36 


In  hand  of  saviour  Fortune,  to  avoid 

The  fangs  of  coast  and  sea.    Which  death  escaped, 

Aghast  in  that  pale  light,  our  shrunken  sail 

And  loss  beholding,  we  with  scanty  fare 

Pastured  our  starving  hope  to  see  again 

Our  comrades  ;  who,  if  they  survive,  in  turn 

Will  think  of  us  as  dead.    And  so  we  too 

May  hope ; — that  somewhere  still  the  light  of  day 

Kindles  on  Menelaus,  as  on  us. 

Under  the  hand  of  Zeus,  not  mindful  yet 

Utterly  to  destroy  and  from  its  place 

Uproot  our  nation. 

Chorus 

Helen,  the  Conquer  ess  ! 

— One  pastured  to  the  lips  in  prophecies, 

Some  sibyl  named  thee  well. 

And  at  thy  cradle  sponsor  stood  to  tell 

Thine  afterfame, 

—  0  dreadful  history  in  a  name  ! 

— Helen  of  Troy  to  be. 

Of  annal'd  war  by  land  and  sea, 

Of  arms,  of  men, 

Helen  of  nations.     When 

At  last,  from  silken  pale 

Of  thy  sea-gazing,  thou  didst  give  a  sail 

To  the  giant-seeded  winds  of  the  west. 

Instant  upon  the  quest  * 

37 


Of  thy  light-running  keel  appeared 
Myriads,  whose  clashing  bucklers  cheered 
The  hounds  of  blood,  and  hurled 
On  Simois  green  the  hunters  of  the  world. 

So  at  the  doors  of  Ilium  Vengeance  stands 
Accountant,  in  her  hands 
The  marriage-marring  evidence  of  fate, 
And  the  law  violate 
Of  Zeus,  guest-guardian.     She 
Waits,  with  dun  adversity. 
On  those  who  in  the  bridal  courts  prolong 
Their  spendthrift  song. 
Until  that  hymenaean  falters.     Hear 
In  Priam's  city  at  last  the  accent  drear 
Of  dolorous  change. 

Hear  Paris  called  the  ill-wived.     Voice  of  how  strange 
Groomsmen  !     But  they  have  drawn  their  singing- 
breath 
In  an  age  of  death. 

There  was  a  man  brought  home  with  thought  to  tame 

The  lion-cub  reft  of  his  milky  dam. 

In  his  boon  whelphood  what 

A  playmate  for  the  younger  ! — not 

Unapt  to  rouse 

Mirth  of  the  elder  house. 

This  little  weanling  oft 

With  cringing  stomach  and  entreatment  soft 

38 


Will  at  their  doors  look  in, 

And  table-mercies  win. 

Then  trust  with  trust  and  kind  with  kind 

Repaid,  the  prosperous  mite  will  find 

Caress  more  freely  given. 

And  lap-room  even. 

But  Time,  which  to  maturity- 
Leads  on  born  savagery, 
And  adult  Nature  shows  the  beast  of  blood 
In  cruel  mood 

Returning  shepherd-kindness.     He  has  broken 
Into  the  sacred  pasture,  and  for  token 
The  ruddy  lintel  smeared 
And  startled  homestead  cleared 
Of  frightened  men,  while  he  the  unbidden  feast 
Pursues  ; — intemperate  priest 
Of  doom,  which  Ignorance  in  his  mansion  bred, 
At  cost  uncovenanted. 

Came  thus  to  Troas  one,  and  came  with  her 

A  prosperous  weather,  as  it  were 

Summer  of  idle  calm 

That  sowed  sweet  harm 

Of  Eros'  flower,  and  sought  beneath  those  eyes 

The  dangers  of  love's  paradise. 

— A  marriage-change ; 

And  then,  what  consort  strange 

39 


Is  this,  who  next  to  Priam's  throne 
Of  Priam's  people  friend  hath  none. 
But  for  herself  and  for  the  land 
Hath  furnished  to  the  hand 
Of  what  offended  god, 
In  what  demented  haste,  this  rod, 
This  justice- wanting 
Erynnus,  women-haunting  ? 

Life's  ancient  learning,  bent 

With  failing  eyes  on  truth,  describes  the  event 

Of  human  happiness. 

— Not  issueless 

Falls  the  fair  branch  of  fortune,  not 

Unfruitful  dies,  but  hath  an  heir  begot, 

Ill-graft  upon  the  parent  name  of  bHss, 

Sorrow,  'tis  said,  his  generation  is. 

— Cold  creed,  not  mine  !     Despair 

If  good  should  evil  bear. 

Rather,  'tis  evil  that  begets  his  kind  ; 

And  to  my  mind 

Truth  with  itself  is  reconciled 

If  fair  have  fair  to  child. 

The  Pride  of  Life,  the  pampered,  still 

Insatiate,  hardening  human  will 

At  every  turn  of  fate,  to  oppose 

The  holy  gods  ; — her  progeny  are  those 

Shadows  of  mortal  path 

And  that  earnest  of  death  which  hath 

40 


In  the  old  semblance,  to  the  long-spared  home, 
At  the  master-moment,  come. 

And  if  mid  the  hearth-stains  of  poverty 

The  lamp  of  Justice  kindles,  she 

Finding  a  pure  faith  there, 

Stays,  though  in  many  a  palace  fair 

Rest  comes  not  to  an  eye  that  sees 

The  soul's  uncleannesses, 

The  guilty  palm  of  power,  whose  boastful  days 

Herself  hath  numbered,  looking  divers  ways. 

[Enter  Agamemnon,  with  his  following.   Cassandra 
is  seated  in  the  mule-car. 

— He  comes  !  — The  King  ! 

— 0  lord  of  Atreus  House,  Troy-conquering, 

If  doubts  arrest 

The  voices  of  thy  triumph,  'tis  but  lest 

The  excess  of  praise  mere  adulation  prove  ; 

'Tis  but  that  truth  we  love 

More  than  that  seeming  which  is  everywhere  ; 

— The  face  men  wear 

Of  gratulation,  oft  a  veil  too  thin 

To  hide  the  unsmiling  soul  within  ; 

Or  if  grief  calls 

For  a  fraternal  tear,  the  semblance  falls 

From  a  dry  casket.     Undeceived  is  he 

Who  in  the  market  of  humanity 

41 


His  cattle  knows ; 

And  thou,  remembering  the  part  we  chose 

In  times  gone  by, 

Not  then  the  flatterer's,  when  thou  didst  try 

Our  counsel ;  when  the  war 

Of  Helen  came,  and  not  as  things  now  are, 

We  did  thy  wisdom  call 

In  question,  and  thy  aim  depict  in  all 

Its  threatening  hues,  as  when 

It  came  to  force  upon  reluctant  men 

The  courage  of  fierce  sacrifice. 

And  pay  that  altar-price, 

— Know,  then,  the  measure  of  good  will 

Which  doth  our  welcome  fill. 

And  taketh  in,  as  well  it  should. 

The  mighty  issue  thou  hast  brought  to  good. 

And  know,  as  soon  thou  wilt. 

How  justly,  or  otherwise,  each  man  hath  dealt 

His  share  of  commonweal. 

Which  one  proved  false,  and  which  did  strictly  deal. 

Agamemnon 

Argos,  by  thee  and  by  thy  people-gods 
Be  heard  the  first  of  this  new  voice  of  mine. 
To  mine  own  house,  by  their  solicitude 
Returned,  who  at  their  bidding  went  away. 
It  was  no  mortal  voice  that  gave  Troy  doom. 
By  lot  announced,  when  none  profanely  cast 
Into  the  opposing  cup  a  rebel  vote 

42 


Averse  to  blood  ;   none  failed  us  ;   so  Troy  fell. 

— Witness  her  burning  !     What  sweet  airs  prolong 

The  Ate-life  in  ashes  and  send  forth 

Burnt  odours  with  the  carnal  flames  of  wealth's 

Blown  sacrifice !     To  the  gods,  to  the  gods  return 

Measures  of  praise  heaped  in  the  scale  with  these 

Vindictive  spoils.     Not  to  the  spoiler  in 

The  chase  of  love  this  bursting  net  of  gain. 

The  male  beast  turned. — Thou  Argive  troop,  compact 

Of  shield,  taking  thy  leap  at  last  amid 

The  storms  of  sunset,  thou  the  battlement 

Hast  cleared  ;   a  lion  now,  with  jaws  that  drip 

Majestic  blood.     To  the  gods,  to  the  gods  again 

These  firstfruits.—  Now  to  you  whose  weight  of  care 

Has  held  me  listener,  till  I  could  have  ta'en 

The  burden  up  and  spoken  in  your  stead. 

— It  is  not  in  the  heart  of  every  man 

To  gladden  at  the  welfare  of  his  friend. 

The  envious  canker  there,  an  eye  distressed 

Looks  out  on  neighbour  fortune,  so  to  find 

Home-burdens  doubled.     Often  have  I  proved 

And  torn  the  mask  from  many  a  flattering  word 

Of  many  a  seeming  friend. — Yet  there  was  one, 

Ulysses.     He  did  with  rough  words  dispute 

My  sailing-counsel ;   but,  embarked,  stood  true. 

And  held  the  course  with  me.     I  speak  of  him  ; 

I  know  not  if  'tis  of  the  dead  I  speak. 

— There's  much  to  do  ;  let  us  take  counsel  on 

The  state  and  the  divine  action  of  men. 

43 


-^4-A 


If  good  be  proved,  how  to  renew  that  good 
To  everlasting  ;  or,  if  evil  be. 
Whether  fire  purge  it  or  remedial  knife 
Cut  out  the  part  diseased. — But  now,  'tis  home 
I  enter  ;  and — the  gods  first  even  there- 
Greet  gods  of  home  ;  the  same  who  sent  me  forth, 
Bring  me  again. — ^Ye  powers  attending  me 
In  battle,  stay  my  feet  in  paths  of  peace. 

[Enter  Clytemnestra.  While  Agamemnon  stands  in 
salutation  of  the  gods,  she  addresses  the  Chorus 
first. 

Clytemnestra 

You  citizens,  elders  of  Argos,  to  you 

I  may  refer,  with  less  misgiving,  my  theme 

Of  wifely  duty.     Humility,  and  fear. 

Wear  out  in  time.    The  hard  lot  I  have  borne 

While  he — while  this  man—  conquered  Troy — 'tis  my 

Affair  and  knowledge.     What  is  known  to  all 

Is  the  state  of  that  woman  whom  her  husband 

Deserts  for  war.    The  empty  house,  the  cold 

Alarms,  dinning  on  the  wrought  mind,  they  come. 

One  on  another  rumour,  heaping  dread. 

Wounds  ; — if  the  word  of  wounds  were  always  true, 

This  man  of  hers  was  riddled  like  a  sieve. 

Deaths  ; — what  was  Geryon  in  his  digged  grave, 

Casting  the  triple  cloak  of  earth  he  wore  ? 

A  man  of  fewer  lives,  I  ween,  than  this. 

44 


Why,  in  that  gloss  of  maddening  rumour,  what 

Marvel  if  it  were  said — if  it  were  true, 

They  cut  me  from  the  noose,  and  left  me  life 

I  could  not  away  with  ? — Then — -he  is  not  here, 

The  child,  the  master-witness  of  my  faith. 

And  thine — Orestes.     Nay,  but  marvel  not ; 

A  neighbour  cares  for  him,  a  friend  at  arms, 

Strophios  the  Phocian  ;  one  who,  warning,  gave 

Shape  to  the  fears  that  clung  about  me  ; — -death 

In  Troas  field  ;  kingdom  without  a  king  ; 

Dispersed  council,  and  this  house  of  thine 

At  rabble-mercy.     Was  not  this  enough  ? 

Is  human-kind  to  trust  ?     Hard  do  I  seem  ? 

The  springs  are  dry,  there  is  not  a  drop  remains. 

This  harm  was  done  to  the  once-ready  fount 

Of  tears.     'Twas  that  night-watching,  that 

Unkindled  fire,  for  thee.    That  broken  sleep, 

Those  pestered  dreams,  when  the  light-buzzing  sense 

Wove  in  the  minutes  of  too  straitened  sleep 

Patterns  of  fear  which  would  have  overflowed 

The  waking  hour.     Now  all  is  past  I  look 

On  thee,  strayed  guardian  of  the  fold  returned, 

Strong  helmsman,  grounded  column  of  the  roof, 

Sole  prop  of  parentage  infirm,  land  past 

The  hope  of  sailors,  when  with  land  appears 

Fair  dawn  upon  the  winter  of  the  seas  ; 

When,  too,  the  endless  traveller  nears  the  green 

Of  desert-wells.     Surely  there  is  no  sweet 

Like  that  which  never  can  be.     Such  the  words 

45 


I  deem  to  fit  thy  coming.     Stand  aside, 
Envy  !     Though  past,  were  there  not  ills  we  bore  ? 
— Dear  lord,  descend  !     But  not  to  earth,  O  king, 
Troy-conqueror,  come  thy  feet.     Down,  slaves,  and 

spread 
The  footway  ;  laggards  in  the  task  assigned, 
Why  this  delay  ?     Set  straight,  of  broidered  wealth, 
A  regal  carpet.     Justice  to  his  house 
Unhoped  for,  guide  him. — For  the  rest,  not  sleep 
Shall  mask  disclosure  of  our  mind,  and  still 
Justly,  and  with  the  gods,  and  after  fate. 

Agamemnon 

Daughter  of  Leda,  guardian  of  my  house ; 
Thou  hast  given  me  greeting,  so  extending  speech 
To  suit  an  absence  long.     More  measured  praise 
Had  come  from  other  lips,  in  awe  of  heaven. 
, — For  that,  I  am  no  woman,  whom  soft  things 
Like  words,  content ;  no  satrap,  pleased  with  court 
Agape,  and  earth-obeisance.     Never  spread 
For  me  the  invidious  ground  of  honour  gods 
Alone  may  safely  tread.     I  fear  that  path ; 
Mortal  I  am,  give  me  a  man's  due,  not 
A  god's.    My  fame  subsists  without  the  mark 
Of  this  dyed  blazon  ;  were  it  not  that  heaven's 
Best  gift  is  other,  even  a  guiltless  mind, 
And  none  will  know,  until  the  end,  if  life 
Have  prospered  ;   till  the  end  and  all  well  done, 
If  he  have  courage  left  for  happiness.    ^ 

46 


Clytemnestra 

Tell  me — and  let  thine  answer  not  admit 
Misunderstanding;. 


'O* 


Agamemnon 
That  it  never  shall. 

Clytemnestra 
Thou  hast  made  a  boast  of  piety. 

Agamemnon 

If  not  I, 
Who  then  should  so  ? 

Clytemnestra 

Not  Priam,  if  victor  he. 

Agamemnon 

No,  by  my  faith,  he'd  tread  the  purple  path 
Here  strown. 

Clytemnestra 
'Tis  human  blame  you  fear  in  this, 

Agamemnon 
Strong  censors  of  our  acts  are  human  tongues. 

47 


Clytemnestra 

They  are  envious  tongues.     But  without  envy  none 
Shall  emulate. 

Agamemnon 

Is  it  a  woman's  part 
So  to  persist  in  strife  of  reason  ? 

Clytemnestra 

Yet 
It  is  a  part  of  power  to  yield  sometimes. 

Agamemnon 
Thou  hast  set  some  pressing  store  on  this. 

Clytemnestra 

And  still 
Am  urging,  in  the  hope  still  to  prevail. 

Agamemnon 

So  be  it.     Forward  then,  some  slave,  to  strip 
These  sandals,  lest  the  insulting  feet  should  mar 
That  cloth  of  price,  fabric  of  Tyrian  seas  ; 
And  such  ill-thrift,  contemptuous  use  of  wealth. 
Bring  down  the  jealous  armoury  of  heaven. 
Let  be  then.     But — this  stranger-woman.    Ah  ! 
Bid  welcome  here  kindly,  for  kindness  is 
The  temper  of  power,  and  the  gods  look  for  it 

48 


Where'er  the  abashed  human  spirit  sustains 
Violence  of  slavery  ;   and  this  woman,  this 
Princess  ; — -where  the  luxuriant  bloom  of  life 
Excels  in  kings'  houses, —  she  is  that  flower, 
The  prize  of  kings  ;    and  to  whose  arms  but  ours 
Should  victory,  dealing  in  spoils  of  fight, 
Deliver  her  ? — But  since  I  am  constrained, 
All  by  thy  ruling  here,  my  subject  feet, 
On  threshold  purple-dight,  let  enter  home. 

Clytemnestra 

There  is  a  field  wherein  is  harvested 

The  flower  of  the  eternal  sea,  whose  dyes 

Beseem  the  fadeless  garment  of  our  pride. 

And  while  our  lack  in  this  wise  is  no  more 

Than  ocean's  penury,  or  heaven's  eclipse. 

Which  never  yet  hath  ceased  to  shine  on  us, 

I  had  put  leagues  of  purple  down,  to  hear 

Rumour  of  thy  recall,  or  oracle 

Prolong  thy  day  of  life  'neath  foreign  suns. 

For  even  thus,  if  the  tree's  root  survive, 

Fair  shade  its  distant  leaf  extendeth  o'er 

A  barren  and  deserted  homestead,  still 

Slakening  the  rule  of  Sirius'  droughty  star. 

And  now  thou  hast  entered,  like  a  winter  sun. 

The  very  hearth-place ;   like  the  breath  that  cools 

Days  after  harvest,  and  the  winepress  full, 

As  Is  thy  life  filled  with  deeds  harvested. 

D  49 


— O  Father  Zeus  ! — and  my  remaining  prayer 
Fulfil ! — and  that  which  shall  be,  be  thy  will. 

[Exeunt,  into  the  palace,  Agamemnon  and 
Clytemnestra.  Cassandra  remains 
seated  in  the  mule-car. 

Chorus 
O  gathering  shade ! 
Is  it  phantom-bodied  fear  hath  cast 
The  prophet  forth,  and  the  unbidden  singer  made 
A  soHtary  ?     Is  it  the  tangled  past 
Of  dreams,  which  the  fair  forms  of  day  release, 
And  waking  courage  solves  ? — The  day  has  come. 
And  still  it  is  not  these. 
The  day  of  IHum 
Hath  aged  to  this  hour. 
The  ships  of  saiHng  memory. 
The  empty  strand. 

Is  it  their  return  I  see, 

When,  stricken  from  my  hand 

The  lyre,  and  by  the  voice  within 

Confused,  breath  comes  not  but  with  threnody 

And  dron'd  Erynnus  ?     Though  in  that  fierce  din 

Heart  burst,  yet  Righteousness 

Will  on  the  panting  torrent  press 

Her  labour  to  the  end  ; 

And  in  that  whirlpool  I 

50 


With  feeble  clamour  lend 
To  fathomless  woe 
A  voice  of  prayer,  and  know 
'Tis  without  hope  I  cry. 

There  is  no  well-to-fare 

In  life,  when  best  to  win 

Is  to  find  wanting  there. 

It  is  not  Health  at  all. 

So  neighboured  by  Disease, 

Who,  ever  at  the  wall, 

A  crouching  shadow  is, 

Intent  to  enter  in. 

— That  fair  ship,  seeming  to  maintain 

Her  even  course,  beset 

By  the  unknown,  the  sunken  rock,  the  bane 

Of  sailors  ; — yet 

The  master-wisdom,  reckoning 

His  freightage,  may  the  over-burthen  note, 

And  from  the  bulwarks  fling 

Unvalued  jettison,  a  toll  to  fate ; 

Leavening,  until  she  float 

Again,  his  ship,  his  substance,  his  estate 

Upon  the  waters.     Thus 

Comes  hope  to  the  seafarer  ;   yea, 

And  to  the  needy  slaves  of  dearth. 

When  the  all-gatherer,  Zeus, 

Of  harvest,  spills  his  plenty  in  the  way 

Of  annual  earth. 

51 


But  hope  to  you,  O  men  of  blood, 

Comes  not  at  all. 

The  drops  of  sacred  blood  once  spilled 

Have  no  recall. 

Was  one  of  old  time  skilled 

To  raise  the  dead  ? 

His  fate  but  showed 

Whereto  the  empery  of  nature  led. 

— Ah  no  !     Could  some  divine 

Amend  the  human  lot  once  drawn. 

And  night  of  destiny 

Merge  in  alternate  dawn. 

Swifter  than  any  tongue,  0  heart  of  mine, 

With  tidings  such  as  these  should  be. 

Thou  hadst  shown  it  now.     But  hark  ! 

Upon  what  fearful  summons  do  I  grope 

With  trembling  shades  and  scarce  for  dread  suspire  ? 

No  thread  of  hope 

Drawn  from  the  stranded  dark 

And  patterned  fire. 

{Enter  Clytemnestra. 

Clytemnestra 

Enter.    Cassandra  is  thy  name  ?     Thou  too 
Wilt  find  provision  made.     Need  it  be  said. 
The  peace  which  Zeus  hath  given  extends  to  thee, 
A  portion  in  our  feast,  however  small ; 
A  place  beside  our  altar,  though  a  slave's. 

52 


I 


Come  down.     Look  not  above  thee.     So  did  not 
Alcmena's  son,  reputed  to  have  borne 
The  yoke  of  slavery  in  a  foreign  mart. 
Besides,  if  need  to  serve,  'tis  well  to  have 
Of  possible  masters,  not  the  newly  rich. 
For  those  whom  fortune  hath  surprised  are  raw 
To  none  so  much  as  to  their  servants.    We 
Are  of  the  temper  that  belongs  to  power. 
This  you  will  prove. 

Chorus 

She  waits  your  answer.     She  has  said  but  fair. 
And  you,  who  are  the  spoil  of  destiny. 
Will  choose  to  obey ;   or,  if  you  do  not  choose, 
Will  still  obey. 

Clytemnestra 

There  is  a  barbarous  kind 
Of  speech,  like  the  bird-clamour  of  the  roof. 
About  our  ears.     Therewith  a  barbarous  way 
Of  understanding.     If  she  be  not  one 
Of  these,  persuasion  wins. 

Chorus 

How  else,  for  all 
The  choice  there  is  ?     No  better  to  sit  there, 
Than  follow,  as  she  bids  thee. 

53 


Clytemnestra 

This  is  as  much 
Of  outdoor  leisure  as  I  have  to  spend. 
Fire  burns  upon  the  household  altar,  there 
The  sheep  of  sacrifice  are  tied  and  wait 
For  us,  who  have  waited  long  enough  for  this. 
— Dost  still  delay  ?     Thy  lot  is  not  thine  own ; 
But  this  occasion  is  the  gods',  and  this 
We  share  with  thee. — She  hears  me  not !   Uncouth. 
— Attempt  not  then  thy  barbarous  speech,  but  make 
Some  sign,  with  what  civility  thou  canst. 

Chorus 

Ah,  'tis  interpreter  she  needs.     How  like 
Some  wild  thing  newly  taken  in  the  net. 

Clytemnestra 

Yes,  from  the  newly  taken  city  come, 
She  rages  and  still  starts  at  every  sound.  . 

The  bridle  is  not  used  to  fit,  there's  froth,  | 

There's  red  aversion  foamed   at  the  mouth.     But 

wait ; 
The  reins  are  mine. 

[Exit  Clytemnestra  into  the  palaci»   | 

Chorus 

Ah,  piteous  creature,  hear  ;  it  is  not  I 

Am  angered  with  thee.    At  thy  journey's  end, 

54 


Come  down,  attempt  the  yoke,  with  needful  grace 
For  what  must  needs  be  borne. 

Cassandra 

0  hear  me,  hear  me,  gods. 
Apollo,  O  Apollo. 

Chorus 

But  when  did  he  thou  callest,  when 
Did  Loxias  give  heed  to  voice  of  fear  ? 

Cassandra 
Hear;  save. 
Apollo,  Apollo, 

Chorus 

She  calls  again  on  whom  'tis  weariness 
For  grief  to  call.     He  is  not  Sorrow's  god. 

Cassandra 

The  streets  are  full  of  his  name. 

But  he  is  mine. 

Apollo. 

Ah,  now  thou  leavest  me ;   ah,  now  thou  art  gone. 

Chorus 

Her  own  despair  is  now  the  prophetess, 
Divinity  left  in  a  mind  enslaved. 

55 


Cassandra 

The  many  voices  thou  hearest ; 

But  me, 

Apollo,  Apollo, 

Me  whither  hast  thou  led  ?   Unto  what  roof  ? 

Chorus 

The  House  of  Atreus,  since  thou  askest  this. 
But  do  we  tell  thee  aught  thou  dost  not  know  ? 

Cassandra 
Woe,  woe,  hereby. 

Hate,  hate — the  gods  know  it  for  hate. 
Murder — she  goeth  not  abroad  ; 
She  need  but  listen  here  * 

For  step  of  friend. 
Hangs  ever  here 
The  rope  that  hanged. 
This  choking — so  breath  must  fail. 
This  damp — they  have  not  drained 
The  death-places  of  blood,  men's  blood — 

Chorus 
Hound-like,  on  scent  of  blood — 

Cassandra 

And  children's.     0,  these  are  my  witnesses. 
Ye  know  the  truth  I  tell,  for  they  cry  out 

56 


In  death,  their  bodies  burned,  their  flesh,  their  flesh 
A  father's  banquet. 

Chorus 

We  are  thy  witnesses. 
Soothsayer,  yes.     We  ask  not  this  to  say. 

Cassandra 

But  what  is  now — but  what  is  now 
Of  horror  heaped  within  those  doors  ? 
What  fiend's  work  plotting  ?     None 
Can  save,  none  can  remove. 
Help  so  far  off  is  none,  none,  none. 

Chorus 

Things  of  the  past  which  thou  hast  told  are  known 
To  all  the  race,  but  not  these  present  fears. 

Cassandra 

Wilt  do  it,  wretched  one  ? 

Couched  is  he  ?     Bathest  thou  his  journey's  dust  ? 

— I'll  not  tell  the  end,  it  is  too  near. 

Those  hands — one  is  stretched  forth  already. 

No,  'tis  the  other  reaches  forth  to  kill. 

Chorus 

Away  with  thoughts  not  to  be  guessed  at,  things 
Unseen.     The  eye  is  blurred  that  sees  these  things. 

57 


Cassandra 

Nay,  but  'tis  plain  ; 

The  victim's  quite  enmeshed.     Death  has  him  fast. 

Ruin  for  consort,  who  escape  the  snare 

Of  such  a  bedfellow  ?     She  has  him  fast. 

— Voices  that  haunt  the  house, 

Begin  again,  let  wail.     They  are  not  satisfied, 

So  there's  another  due  for  vengeance. 

Chorus 

The  voice  thou  hearest  and  still  callest  on. 
Is  it  Erynnus  ?     Not  that  thy  word  is  clear. 
Only  before  my  heart's  dull  vision  blood 
Rains  purple  down,  Hke  drops 
Of  mortal  issue,  from  the  wounded  frame 
Of  life,  when  sunset  yields  to  dark. 

Cassandra 

Look,  look  ! — For  pity  unlock 

Those  monstrous  nuptials. 

A  horn'd  dagger  she  hides.     Black,  black  it  is. 

A  bathrobe  hides  it. 

He  on  the  crystal  edge 

Hath  fallen,  and  from  the  cleansing  laver's  hp 

Hath  taken  stain  of  death. 

Chorus 

I  cannot  claim  to  have  followed  to  the  end 

That  wisdom's  theme  wherewith  the  gods  have  filled 

58 


The  lips  of  prophets,  but  this  truth  is  mine ; 

The  things  they  have  to  tell  an  evil  likeness  wear 

To  naught  of  good  to  men. 

Come  art,  the  many,  the  sweet-syllabled, 

Come  melody  the  most  divine. 

The  burden  is  the  same,  that  teaches  only  fear. 

Cassandra 

0  heavy  fate,  now  is  my  turn  of  death, 

To  enter  on  the  stream  of  destiny. 

Me  hither,  wretched,  wherefore  didst  thou  lead, 

Thyself  O  foully  slain,  to  die  with  thee  ? 

Chorus 

Who  art  thou,  what  is  thy  lament  ? 

Is  for  thyself  the  passion'd  strain. 

Wherein  the  mortal  means  are  spent 

On  more  than  mortal  ?     Art  thou  she 

Who  "  Itys  "  cries 

And  "  Itys,"  and  again  ; 

— The  singer  of  brown  dusk,  the  nightingale 

Of  earth  far-blossoming  with  pain. 

Cassandra 

The  nightingale  !     Who  hears 
That  voice  ?   as  if  it  were 

59 


**  0  earth  !    O  sorrow  !  " — But  they  gave 

A  winged  shape  to  her, 

And  a  sweet  life  away  from  tears. 

— In  my  cold  death  is  none  to  save. 

Chorus 

This  voice  that  is  despair, 

So  sweetly  sounds, 

'Tis  some  divine  possession.     Yet 

A  note  of  terror  breaks  the  bounds 

Of  a  pure  music,  shadows  that  beset 

The  path,  and  horror  lurking  there. 

Cassandra 

Paris,  thou  and  thy  bride  ! 

Thou  hast  ruined  us,  my  brother.    Ah  ! 

Scamander,  river  of  home  ! 

My  way  was  deep  in  green 

By  thy  old  waterside, 

Where  I  remember  always  to  have  been. 

Alas,  no  more. 

But  I  that  never  left  thee,  unto  this  have  come, 

0  waiUng  river,  0  dark  shore. 

Chorus 

Who  is  so  new  to  life  as  not  to  hear 
In  these  the  tones  of  death  ? 

6o 


—  As  though  myself  did  overtake 
Some  treacherous  blow,  so  clear 
The  word  she  saith, 

That  grips  my  heart,  as  it  would  break. 

Cassandra 

My  country  !     O  the  burdens  borne. 

The  battles,  and  the  end  ! 

My  father's  house  !   the  stones  uptorn 

For  altars,  and  the  fields 

Em-ptied  of  grazing  herds,  to  spend 

On    fruitless    heaven     and   doom    they    could    not 

stay. 
— Enough,  even  my  spirit  yields. 
I  must  put  all  away. 

Chorus 

It  follows,  all. 

As  the  spirit,  dropt  from  what  height 
Informs  thee,  in  the  language  used  of  pain, 
— 0  voice  most  musical ! 

—  And  death,  ranging  beyond  my  sight, 
And  where  to  question  is  in  vain. 

Cassandra 

No  longer,  as  it  were  the  bride  of  fear. 
The  Oracle  peers  from  a  veil  obscure. 

6i 


Comes  now,  as  oft  at  restless  dawn,  a  wind. 
And  with  that  change  to  visible,  the  waves 
Gather  a  greater  head  of  waters,  to 
The  plunge  of  last  calamity. — Enough 
Ye  know  to  join  your  witness  unto  mine, 
Following  the  tracks  of  ancient  trouble  here. 
Ye  singers  of  this  house  did  ne'er  march  forth 
To  happy  music  ;  ne'er  had  good  to  tell 
Of  this  your  dwelling.     So  much,  then,  ye  know 
Of  spirits  that  haunt,  of  revellers  within. 
That  sit  at  table  there,  and  will  not  move, 
— 'Tis  Murder  fills  the  cup — till  from  the  roof 
The  midnight  chanty  shrieks,  voice  unto  voice 
Calling  out  of  the  past,  they  mouth  the  tale 
Like  garbage.     Once  a  brother's  bed  defiled. 
What  crime  obscene  answered  the  trampler's  guilt  ? 
- — I  have  said  it,  all  have  I  divined.    Must  I 
Seem  some  loose  teller  of  wild  fortunes  at 
Your  doors  ?     Must  I  approve  myself  again  ? 
— Believe — swear  ye  believe  that  what  I  know 
Is  of  my  own  divining. 

Chorus 

I  could  swear. 
But  though  my  faith  were  uttered  on  an  oath 
What  help  were  that  to  thee  ?     I  am  amazed 
That  one,  as  thou,  a  stranger  born,  from  far 
And  newly  come  to  us,  should  know  these  things. 

62 


Cassandra 

It  was  Apollo's  gift  to  me.     Time  was 
When  I  had  shame  in  saying  it. 

Chorus 

Was  he 
Thy  lover,  then  ?     And  did  the  favour  sought 
By  him,  a  god,  of  thee  a  mortal — 

Cassandra 

Nay 
But  in  fair  seemi'ng  and  yet  godlike  he 
My  suitor  was. 

Chorus 

To  wedlock  couldst  thou  come, 
And  children  born  to  him  ? 

Cassandra 

Loxias  ! — I  made 
Consent,  I  promised,  I  deceived 

Chorus 
When  he  had  filled  thee  with  this  gift  divine  ? 

Cassandra 

Yes — after  he  had  given.    The  city  then 
Was  marvelling  at  my  power. 

63 


Chorus 

What  then  ?     Did  he, 
Did  Loxias  let  thee  go  unscathed  ? 

Cassandra 

Alas 
For  my  unfaith  !     What  prophetess  was  I  ? 
Henceforth  no  man  believed  me. 


Chorus 
Believe  thee ! 

Cassandra 


Nay,  but  I 


O,  rid  me  of  this  thing,  'tis  evil,  evil. 
On  such  a  brink  I  sway,  of  such  a  burden 
Possessed,  at  any  word  of  it  I  am  lost. 
— ^Those  children  ! — Look,  those  little  ones  again, 
Do  ye  see  them  ?     So  like  shades  transfixed  in  dream  ; 
So  motionless  they  sit,  as  fitting  those 
Surprised  with  death  by  those  who  fondled  them. 
Their  hands,  those  small  dead  hands,  they  seem  to 

hold 
Some  offering  of  themselves.     A  father  ? — not 
A  father  takes  their  gory  contents  ;   no, 
'Tis  horror-past,  pity  cannot  reach  there. 
And  vengeance  ?     Is  it  for  this  that  I  see  such 

64 


Home-keeping,  nerveless  thing  of  lion-kind 
Turn  himself  in  the  absent  monarch's  lair  ? 
This  is  a  king  Slavery  herself  must  own, 
And  we  of  wasted  Troy  attest  his  power. 
And  yet  he  knows  not  how  he  stands  in  terms 
Of  hell's  conspiracy  with  the  tongue  that  gave 
Him  welcome  and  is  waiting  chance  to  bite. 
— 'Tis  of  the  bitch  I  speak,  she  only  dares 
The  female  part  of  murder.     Is  there  name 
Of  her  among  unnameable,  beasts  that  creep 
Before  and  after  ?     Such  was  Scylla,  hid 
In  gulfs  that  swallow  shipwreck.     Such  was  she, 
Mother  of  death,  that  warred  on  her  own  kind. 
Didst  hear  the  gladness  feigned  for  his  return  ? 
The  peal  of  triumph,  as  in  battle  swells 
The  turn  of  victory  ?     It  matters  not 
What  ye  did  hear,  nor  what  ye  take  from  me. 
There  is  what  shall  be,  and  shall  be  too  soon 
To  cost  the  prophetess  more  pains  than  these. 
Your  faith  stands  with  your  pity,  not  far  off. 

Chorus 

Tale  of  his  children's  flesh  Thyestes  had 
To  banquet  on,  I  understood  too  well. 
Horror  best  left  in  its  unfigured  shade. 
The  rest  I  follow  not  to  understand. 

Cassandra 
Not  when  I  speak  of  Agamemnon's  end  ? 

E  65 


Chorus 

Take  care  of  words  like  these,  though  for  thyself 
Thou'rt  desperate. 

Cassandra 
There's  no  help  in  words  of  yours. 

Chorus 

No,  not  if  these  things  were.     But  they  are  not, 
And  may  not  be. 

Cassandra 

Be  the  protesting  word 
Your  care.    Theirs  is  to  kill. 

Chorus 

Whose  ?  What,  I  say  ? 
What  man's  ? 

Cassandra 
Thou  hast  not  listened  well. 

Chorus 

No,  not 
To  gather  this. 

66 


Cassandra 

As  though  I  did  not  speak 
Your  tongue. 

Chorus 

In  oracles  as  dark  to  see, 
The  Pythian  speaks  the  tongue  of  Hellas  too. 

Cassandra 

Ah,  not  again  ! — Lycian  Apollo,  ah, 

Put  out  the  fire !   it  draws  too  near. 

— One  of  a  race  of  kings,  this  lion's  mate, 

In  her  lord's  absence  couches  with  a  wolf. 

If  such  a  one  hath  spite,  how  should  it  spare 

A  wretch  like  me  ?     She'll  not  forget  to  mix 

My  portion  in  the  draught  of  death.     For  him 

A  dagger  sharpened  ;   for  my  presence  here 

With  him,  the  thrust  deep,  deep  as  vengeance 

Can  take  it.     O,  this  mockery  on  my  breast. 

This  mantic  wreath  I  have  worn,  this  prophet's  staff  ; 

Should  these  survive  mine  injury  of  death  ? 

— Lie  there  and  do  no  harm  ;   the  vanity 

Will  not  be  found  again  in  woman  weak 

As  I,  to  wear  prophetic  likeness.     None 

Will  touch.    Take  back  thy  gift,  Apollo  !     See, 

He  has  divested  me,  looks  on  me  now 

As  I  was,  but  for  the  shame  that's  past.     I  had  friends 

Whose  mockery  drove  me  wild,  and  to  think  all 


Mine  enemies.    They  called  me — >what  ? 

I  might  have  been  a  vagrant  in  their  path, 

Witless,  and  hunger-driven  to  frenzy,  asking 

This  charity  of  them — to  be  believed. 

Here  is  an  end.    My  lord  of  wisdom,  he 

Has  brought  me  to  the  wisdom  of  the  dead. 

For  altar — 0  my  father's  house, 

And  the  lov'd  temple-service  there  1 

— This    block,   this   blood-splash,  this    before    mine 

eyes. 
Vengeance  ?     Yes,  there  will  be  to  pay  this  debt 
Of  dying,  someone  to  make  pay  the  price. 
Another  branch  of  murder-bearing  tree, 
Son  of  his  father,  and  his  mother  too, 
Avenging  one  upon  the  other.    He 
Shall  wander  out  of  exile,  to  renew 
The  home-acquaintances,  builders  of  wrath, 
And  cope  the  muniment  of  death.    For  him 
No  other  way  but  to  seek  out  the  place 
That  saw  his  sire  struck  down.    For  him  no  choice, 
Bound  by  no  oath  but  what  the  heavens  have  sworn. 
— I  weep  not  for  the  sorrows  of  this  house, 
Seeing  my  own,  my  Ilium  come  to  what 
These  eyes  have  seen,  my  people  come  to  this, 
And  in  heaven's  judgment  come.     I  have  come  too, 
To  endure  as  they ;   I  can  endure  as  well 
To  die.     I  will  address  me  to  these  doors, 
Ask  death  to  open  to  me.     I  think  there  is 
No  more  to  ask ;  only  that  when  it  fall, 

68 


The  blow  may  end  me,  and  no  need  to  shrink 
Or  struggle ;   but  a  closing  of  the  eyes 
On  a  swift-running  stream.  ^ 

Chorus 

0,  whither  now 
Hath  sorrow  led  thee  ?     Wisdom  to  what  bourne 
Arrived,  that  looking,  as  thou  seem'st  to  do, 
On  thine  own  death,  thou  canst  go  to  it  thus, 
All-knowing,  to  endure ;   not  as  the  ox 
That  paces  slow  the  route  of  sacrifice. 
And  yet  as  far  from  fear  ? 

Cassandra 

Help  there  is  none, 
t  O  strangers.     So  what  need  prolong  the  hour  ? 

Chorus 

Yet,  to  put  off  the  hour,  this  is  the  thought 
Even  of  age,  when  we  have  come  to  it. 

Cassandra 
\    The  day  has  come,  I  am  not  its  fugitive. 

Chorus 
\    What  courage  !  so  to  bear. 

69 


Cassandra 

'Tis  all  they  need, 
Who  miss  the  path  of  happiness.  "^ 

Chorus 

Grace  left 
To  those  unfortunate — nobly  to  face 
The  end. 

Cassandra 

My  father  !     so  didst  thou,  and  so 
We  of  thy  house.    And  yet — 

Chorus 

What  comes  to  thee  ?     What  labour  of  the  heart 
For  breath  ? 


I 


Cassandra  . 

These  walls — a  smell  of  blood — of  blood —     % 

Chorus  J 

A  burning  on  the  hearth,  an  incense  strange 
To  thee. 

Cassandra 
No,  no,  a  breath  of  open  graves. 

70 


Chorus 

No  words  of  mine  can  balm  instil  in  what 
Thou  tastest  now. 

Cassandra 

As  well  within  as  here, 
To  handle  that  last  cup.     Is  it  finished  with  him  ? 
Hath  Agamemnon  tasted  ? — I  have  yet 
Life — to  be  rid  of.     Strangers,  farewell. 
I  was  to  dwell  with  you. 
Alas,  you  say.     But  no.     Behold  me  now, 
Not  like  that  shrieking  bird  in  quickset  fear, 
No,  not  like  that.     I  want  your  witness  still 
To  that  dead  woman  which  is  myself ; — when  for 

my  cause 
Yet  other  woman  perish,  aye,  and  man  too, 
For  other  man  ill-mated. — I  was  to  be 
Your  guest,  but  life  is  done. 

Chorus 

0,  for  compassion's  sake — beseech  the  gods 
That  otherwise — 

Cassandra 

Not  a  word,  not  for  myself 
I  pray,  yet  one  word  more.     It  is  to  thee. 
To  thee.  Sun  of  my  life,  light  of  last  day. 
— Thou  seest  none  my  avenger ;   me  a  slave 

71 


They  kill,  and  fear  no  reckoning.    Yet  not  so  ; 
Mine  are  the  avengers  of  the  mightier  dead 
That  die  with  me.     This,  this  is  human,  this 
Is  life.     Joy  was  a  shadow,  and  no  more 
The  marks  of  pain.     Behold,  how  easy  'tis 
To  rub  them  off.     The  writing's  vanished.    This 
Is  only  more  to  pity. 

[Exit  Cassandra,  into  the  palace. 

Chorus 

O  house  of  fame. 

Example  to  the  world  of  power  ; 

Hath  no  one  of  thy  name. 

Even  at  this  hour, 

Prudence  to  shut  the  door  in  fortune's  face, 

Or  deprecate,  at  least. 

The  gifts  unloaded  there  ? 

For  lUium's  captive  grace 

Stands  at  the  conqueror's  feast, 

Gods  of  homecoming  fair 

Attend  ;  whence  then  this  cry 

Of  blood  once  shed  ? 

If  he,  the  glorious  living,  die 

For  so  long  dead, 

An  end  would  be  .    ' 

To  all  that  earthly-dwellers  have. 

Or  hope  to  save. 

From  the  ill-genius  of  mortality. 

72 


Agamemnon  (Within) 
Smitten  am  I  .  .  . 

Chorus  (Leader) 
Silence  ! — Whose  voice  is  that,  whose  voice  of  death  ? 

Agamemnon 
Again ! 

Chorus  (Leader) 
'Tis  ended  ! — 'tis  the  King  ! — what  coimsel,  say  ? 

Various  Voices  of  the  Chorus 
Mine  is — to  the  city— rouse  we  all  we  can. 

— Nay — in  with  us — the  evidence  of  guilt 
Is  there  to  take  red-handed. 

— I  am  for  doing — and  that  quickly—  what  ? 

— One  thing  is  clear — a  tyranny  prepares 
To  fasten  on  us. 

— Yet  we  do  naught — their  ready  hands  will  bring 
To  scorn  our  purpose  thus  deferred. 

— We  should  have  been  prepared.     Counsel  is  hard 
To  suit  to  action. 

73 


— Counsel  will  not  bring 
The  dead  to  life. 

— No,  nor  our  own  lives  given. 
But  'tis  a  dastard  purchase,  at  the  cost. 

— Aye,  death  were  better  than  such  tyranny. 

— But — to  make  sure — art  certain  it  was  death  ? 

— How  sounded  it  ?     Let  us  not  say  too  much ; 
'Tis  but  conjecture,  there  is  yet  to  know. 

— To  know — aye,  there's  the  point — how  fares  it  with 
The  King? 

[Enter  Clytemnestra  from  the  palace,  dis- 
closing the  bodies  of  Agamemnon  and 
Cassandra 

Clytemnestra 

Now  I  can  speak,  where  opportunity 
Was  never  truth  to  tell,  but  always  false. 
Always  to  fear.     How  else  ?     When  enemies 
Go  in  another  likeness,  we  must  wear 
That  hkeness  too,  and  with  a  friendly  gesture 
Invite.     It  was  a  snare  set  long  ago, 
No  risk  could  be  admitted  to  the  issue. 
Sudden  it  seems,  but  much  went  to  it,  this 

74 


Is  but  the  final  cast.     Yet  more  than  that. 

'Twas  here  I  struck,  and  here  I  stand  assured 

Of  all  I  struck  for,  even  to  own  the  deed. 

And  say,  was  it  not  well  done,  that  gave  no  chance 

To  escape,  nor  made  uncertainty  of  death  ? 

Fairly  I  cast,  and  drew  the  net  ashore. 

Seamless  I  wove,  that  the  rich  dress  might  suit. 

I  struck  him  in  it  twice. 

As  many  times  he  groaned,  and  therewith  took 

The  pose  of  death.     I  had  done  ;   but  to  make  up 

The  tale  of  tribute  due  to  gods  who  wait 

Beneath  the  earth  for  souls  of  passing  men, 

And  so  they  should  not  wait  for  him  in  vain, 

I  struck  once  more,  the  third  time.     To  be  sure, 

His  parting  breath  did  linger  not  at  all. 

And  life  ran  fountain-free  and  slaughter-red  ; 

I  was  myself  bedewed,  a  darksome  kind 

Of  rain  ;   but,  O,  gods  never  opened  heaven 

On  such  a  thirsty  earth  as  I,  nor  brought 

A  more  delightful  season  to  the  womb 

Of  life's  expectant  pain.     But  ye  know  not 

How  these  things  be  ; — old  men  of  Argos,  get 

What  joy  you  can  from  things  that  make  for  joy. 

I  tend  triumphant  altars  ;   I  would  make 

Libation  here  ;   this,  this  should  be  the  flesh 

Of  sacrifice,  were  it  seemly,  as  'tis  just ; 

— 0  justice  never  to  be  questioned  !     Cup 

Thou  hast  drained  ;  yea,  thou,  who  didst  it  fill  for  us 

With  imprecation  ;  thou  hast  tasted,  thou  ! 

75 


Chorus 

And  this  thy  husband  !     0  amazing  tongue, 
That  darest  all  unspeakable  to  speak  ! 


Clytemnestra 

Yes,  in  a  woman,  'tis  no  doubt  beyond 
Belief.    And  then,  that  I  should  tell  of  it. 
And  in  the  telling  show  no  natural  fear. 
Nor  nice  regard  for  aught  I  might  receive 
Of  praise  or  blame  from  you  who  know  so  much, 
Such  as,  I  was  his  wife,  and  this  was  he, 
My  husband — now  the  corpse  of  my  right  hand ; 
And  justice  done,  and  I  again,  the  doer. 
So  stands  the  case  that  naught  could  make  more 
plain. 


Chorus 

What  taste  of  earth,  defamed, 

Or  poison-seas  hath  passed 

Thy  lips,  that  frenzy  led. 

And  world  aghast. 

Thou  hast  strange  altars  fed 

With  sacrifice  unnamed  ? 

And  thou,  unnameable — the  race 

Of  men,  earth's  remnant  left  inhabited, 

Will  look  not  on  thy  face. 

76 


I 


Clytemnestra 
So  ready  are  ye  with  justice,  to  pronounce 
Hate,  execration,  banishment,  in  name 
Of  public  conscience^  This  for  me,  but  what 
For  him,  who  brought  our  human  flesh  to  trade 
Of  butchery  ;  who,  that  time,  when  pastures  teemed 
With  eligible  sacrifice,  sought  out 
His  child — and  of  my  children  one — that  one 
I  was  mother  to,  that  sweetest  breath  he  cast 
To  Thracian  dragon-mouths,  unravelling 
The  winds'  foul  magic.     Could  ye  not  have  joined 
The  human  hunt,  and  tracked  the  pestilence 
To  him  who  breathed  it  first  ?     Instead  of  which 
Ye  put  the  scent  of  crime  upon  my  deeds, 
And,  justice-mongering,  dilate  on  them. 
Proceed,  and  get  the  better  if  ye  can 
Of  truth,  and  use  the  power  ye  have  not  now. 
rU  suffer  you,  though  even  yet  the  gods 
Put  off  the  issue.     You,  even  you,  will  learn. 

Chorus 
A  burden  to  breaking  *tis, 
And  reason  over-reaching ;  loud 
To  speak. — What  madness  this, 
That  shakes  a  dripping  shroud, 
To  dash  thine  eyes 
With  blood,  and  drive  to  spend 
The  last  thou  hast  on  that  which  all  denies, 
But  blow  for  blow  and  friendlessness  for  friend  ! 

77 


Clytemnestra 

Ha,  there's  the  sanction  of  divine  in  this 

The  oath  I  swear.     Hear  it,  by  Ate  and 

Erynnus,  names  of  dread  whose  service  due 

To  Justice  put  it  in  my  hands  to  slay 

The  murderer  of  my  child.     I  do  not  think. 

While  I  have  one  to  mend  my  fire  at  home. 

That  Fear  will  have  for  me  his  quaking  guest. 

.^gisthus,  he  it  is  who  stands  with  me. 

The  shield  behind  my  point  of  courage.     What 

Of    him  ?       Nay,    rather,    what    of    this  ?       Here 

lies 
The  woman,  too,  and  not  the  only  one. 
A  little  more  of  honey-sweet  and  less 
Of  poison-barb  he  left  behind  with  those 
Of  Chryseis'  coast-girls,  altar-flames,  I  trow ; 
— This  one  he  hath  had  allayed  for  him  too  soon. 
For  bedmate,  something  of  the  sibyl-kind. 
Ah,  the  wise  spending  of  the  curtained  time ! 
Shipboard  as  well,  so  favourably  planned 
For    converse.     They    have    paid    for    what    they 

had. 
We'll  count  the  cost,  as  so  much  he,  and  she, 
Swan-song  to  boot,  the  dying  flavour  fled. 
So  much,  cold  sweetheart.     Does  it  balance  ?     She 
Has  not  subtracted,  by  her  lying  there, 
More  than  a  very  little  from  the  pleasure 
With  which,  awhile,  I  did  for  my  own  board 
Contract. 

78 


Chorus 

Shut  down,  shut  down 

The  Hght  of  day  in  us, 

Lead  darkness  on 

To  endless  sleep,  that  thus 

The  vision  of  him  here 

Become  not  now,  through  hours  untold. 

Bedridden  thought's  attendant  fear  ; 

Our  king,  our  strength, 

Our  counsellor. 

By  woman  dead  at  length, 

Who,  living,  bore 

A  burden  woman-heaped  of  old. 

■ — Helen,  for  thee 

What  Ilian  numbers  fled 

On  spirit-wings  the  Ilian  shore  ? 

Misguided  Helen,  see 

Whom  thou  hast  added  to  thy  dead, 

And  now  canst  add  no  more. 


For  thou,  of  tendril'd  strife 

The  stem  that  grew. 

All-clasping,  shadowy. 

The  walls  that  were  the  house  of  life, 

Blood-watering,  hast  brought  to  flower  anew 

Dead-branched  memory. 

79 


Clytemnestra 

Ask  not  for  Death — he's  here  ; 

Spend  not  your  breath  beside 

To  catch  at  Helen's  name. 

She  need  not  bear  the  blame 

For  all  the  deaths  that  Greeks  have  died, 

For  every  man's  heart  that  hath  turned  to  fear. 

Chorus 

A  spirit  accurst,  a  power  malign, 

Descends,  0  Tantalus, 

On  thee  and  house  of  thine. 

One,  woman-habited. 

Appears  and  speaks  to  us 

In  tones  that  still  the  feast  of  death  prolong. 

The  raven  o'er  its  dead 

Speaks  that  tongue. 

Clytemnestra 

A  spirit  accurst !— ye  have  it,  nay, 
Could  not  avoid  it,  where 
It  comes  forever  in  your  way, 
Untimely  foetus,  cast  again, 
Again  to  rear, 

A  monster  suckling — 'tis  to  allay 
That  blood-accustomed  thirst,  lie  here 
The  newly  slain. 

80 


Chorus 

Ye  have  named  it — of 

Our  demon-mastered  race 

Soul-clutching  terror,  lurking  in  hearth-place. 

Have  we  not  cried,  Enough  ? 

To  Zeus  we  have  cried,  0  cause  divine. 

Are  these  works  thine  ? 

Without  thee,  nothing  ;   none 

Beside  thee,  god.    Thou  and  thy  works  are  one. 

But  0,  our  Ring,  our  King  ! 

The  tears  thy  friendless  people  shed  ! 

For  us  the  net  they  fling 

That  gathers  thee  with  the  unkingHke  dead. 

— 'Twas  not  thy  fighting-breath, 

Alas,  that  fled 

A  secret-handed  death. 

Clytemnestra 

The  hand  that  slew  the  Argive  King, 
— Remember  this— 

It  was  not  Argive  Queen  ;   I  am  not  I, 
No,  no  : — phantom-inhabiting 
This  body,  spirit-centred  here, 
The  old  plagues  fly. 

And  he  whom  rumoured  fate  hath  chosen  to  die, 
Was  not  my  husband  ;  not  his  wife  was  I, 
F  8l 


Howbeit  my  bed  his  bier. 

And  though  my  table  seems  to  have 

Feast  spread  of  unclean  thing, 

It  is  that  Atreus-memory,  which  gave 

Young  limbs  for  banqueting. 


Chorus 

Who,  that  is  witness  here, 

Of  murder,  shall  another  witness  bear 

To  what  thou  sayest  ?  how  runs  the  tale  ? 

How  Hfts  in  thee  the  ancestral  veil  ? 

How  springs  to  light,  beneath 

Thy  hand,  the  unforgetting  skill  of  death. 

Lurking,  long  generations  down. 

And  rained  on  by  the  drops  self-sown, 

And  adult-harvested, 

To  freshen  stains  of  infant-dead  ? 


— But  0,  our  King,  our  King  ! 

The  tears  thy  friendless  people  shed  ! 

For  us  the  net  they  fling 

That  gathers  thee  with  the  unkingUke  dead. 

— ''Twas  not  thy  fighting-breath 
Alas,  that  fled 
A  secret-handed  death. 
82 


Clytemnestra 

That  secret  hand  again  ! 

— Who  first  sowed  strife, 

A  vast  night-growing  bane, 

Shedding  unspoken  thoughts  of  death  ? 

Who  dragged  beneath 

The  shadow  of  its  pain 

My  branch  of  weeping  life, 

Iphigeneia,  thy  child  ? 

[Addressing  the  corpse  of  Agamemnon 
— Take  with  thee  underground 
Those  lips  defiled 
With  blasphemies  of  love. 
Front  hell  with  them,  let  sound 
That  boast — and  still  find  breath  enough 
To  awake  the  anguished  wound. 

Chorus 

Stunned  out  of  thought 

I  stagger,  all  my  counsel  is 

To  fling  hands  of  despair 

Against  this  bringing  all  to  naught, 

This  ruining  kingdom,  this 

Dark-raining  air. 

That  lashes  to  the  fall 

Their  blood-sprent  towers. 

— What,  stand  they  yet  ?     Is  all 

Over  ?     The  empty  hours 

83 


Of  silence  hold 

A  sound  of  grinding  ;  Fate  her  hand  hath  freed, 

And  lethal  weapon  tries 

On  other  stones  for  other  deed 

That  secret  lies 

In  story  untold. 

Earth  should  have  covered  me, 

Or  ever  silver-sided  stream 

Became  his  blood-bath  and  his  seat  of  death. 

Who  is  there  gathereth 

To  sepulture  ?     Who  starteth  theme 

Of  royal  grief,  and  maketh  last  amends  ? 

— If  thou,  of  all  the  race, 

Think  to  do  aught  of  mourning-kind, 

His  spirit  yet  defends 

Itself  from  this  disgrace, 

And  there  are  wanting  not 

Tears,  and  there  is  a  grief  to  find 

That  looks  not  from  thy  face. 

Clytemnestra 

Ye  trouble  yourselves,  where  naught 

Follows  from  all  the  counsel  ye  may  give. 

It  falls  on  us  to  act.    Burial,  some  prepare. 

Mourners,  we  leave. 

A  houseful,  doubtless. — What 

Of  further  escort ;  those 

84 


He  should  find  midway  the  darkness,  where 

The  pale  dividing  river  flows  ? 

Feet  that  have  trod  the  wild, 

Eager  to  meet, 

Arms  to  embrace,  and  lips  to  greet. 

— Iphigeneia,  his  child  ; 

She  will  be  there. 

Chorus 

She  bears  all  down,  answer  I  need. 

Reason  with  reason  wars,  reason  is  none. 

Spoiled  is  the  spoiler  now,  the  seed 

Of  death  is  in  the  reaping.     One 

Who  can  to  everlasting  wait, 

Ponders  the  deed. 

And  if  he  speak,  it  is  a  word  of  fate 

That  solemn  sounds. 

But  nothing  frees 

From  the  unbroken  bounds 

Of  these  wall'd  secrecies. 

Clytemnestra 

How  near  ye  come  to  truth,  how  near 

The  oracular,  the  dark. 

The  uninterpreted. 

I  wish — 'I  wish  that  here 

Such  spirit  would  bring 

His  demon-understanding  into  pact 

85 


With  mine  ; — bury  the  dead, 

Let  be  what  has  been, 

Hard  though  it  was  to  bear. 

Away — away.     Be  seen 

No  longer  at  our  door. 

Waste  with  self-inflicted  death 

Another  race,  untried, 

And  able  still  to  bear. 

My  spirit  saith. 

Surrender  all ;—  kingdom  and  wealth  beside, 

But  kill  no  more. 

[Enter  ^Egisthus. 

iEciSTHUS 

0  day  of  kindness  !     In  thy  face  I  see 
The  looks  of  heaven  compassionate  the  pain 
Of  earth.     Justice  is  visible,  and  Fate 
Hath  woven  to  the  light,  that  all  may  mark 
The  pattern  of  Erynnus  on  the  robe 
Whose  workmanship  I  love,  wherein  he  lies. 
In  this  ye  may  behold  a  father's  hand. 
Atreus,  this  dead  man's  sire,  was  ruler  here. 
Thyestes,  my  father,  was  this  Atreus'  brother. 
Our  fathers,  then,  dwelt  here,  and  enmity 
Arose  between  them.     So  my  father  fled. 
Then  followed  him  in  exile,  as  it  were, 
Some  word  of  reconcilement ;   and  in  hope 
Of  peace,  and  eager,  came  Thyestes  back, 

86 


My  father,  to  his  home.    He  found  not  death ; 

But    in    that    house,    where    home    and    children 

were, 
As  was  most  fit,  more  than  a  friend  should  find, 
A  feast  already  spread  ;   Atreus  must  show 
A  brother's  token  of  forgiveness.     Food 
Was  set  before  them.     Atreus  sat  not  near 
His  brother.     Atreus  kept  the  dish  his  side, 
Wherefrom  he  served  his  brother.     'Twas  a  mess 
Whose  indistinguishable  part  he  served. 
Remained  the  tokens  ; — sodden  fingers,  feet — 
To  show  at  last,  whereby  Thyestes  knew 
His  children.    Ah,  taste  unprocurable 
Of  death  !     A  father's  vomit — hear  the  curse 
That    overturned    the    board !      No    more    shall 

house 
Of  Pelops  stand,  no  more  shall  Atreus  stand. 
Ye  feel  the  shock  this  day  ;   ye  see  the  fallen. 
— Of  this  unbuilding,  'tis  my  boast  to  have  been 
The  just  artificer.     Thyestes'  child 
I  was,  the  new-born  left  of  those  he  had. 
And  in  his  bosom  he  seized  me  when  he  fled. 
Justice  has  reared  me,  brought  me  back  to  be 
In  my  own  house  a  stranger,  yet  at  home. 
The  while  I  had  this  man  to  wait  for,  fasten 
This  thing  upon  him,  find  his  death  within 
My  compass.     So  to  plant  the  stakes  of  doom 
For  him,  spending  myself  upon  his  death, 
Were  beautifully  to  contrive  my  own. 

87 


Chorus 

Here  is  ill  done,  iEgisthus,  and  no  room, 

For  thoughts  bemused  with  sounding  words  of  thine, 

All  we  have  heard  is  that  thou  hadst  the  will 

To  do  this  deed  ;   nay,  more,  the  craft  to  work 

This  piteous  ending ;   and  thou  knowest  well. 

Justice  can  make  no  answer,  but  in  terms 

Of  thy  own  kind,  by  force  outweighing  force, 

— The  people's  arm  is  long,  the  curse  of  it 

Lies  not  in  tongues  ;  so  many  are  the  hands 

That  take  to  stoning. 

^GISTHUS 

So  speaks  the  lower  deck 
That  pulls  the  galley.    There  are  higher  ranks 
Direct  the  course.    'Tis  hard  for  age  like  thine 
To  learn,  and  to  be  bidden  what  to  learn  ; 
And  yet  thou'rt  like  to  learn.     Prison  and  pain 
Of  famine,  are  not  these  subtle  physicians 
To  malady  of  age  ?     Is  it  blindness  ?    No. 
Ye  see  whither  ye  are  driven.     Is  it  heels  ye  fling 
Against  the  whip  ?     False  step  to  chastisement ! 

Chorus 

What  shall  I  tell  of  thee  ?     A  woman's  part 
Prolonged  at  home,  when  men  were  fighting  ?     What 
Was  wanting  of  adulterous  and  false 
In  one  who  worked  to  such  an  end  as  this  ? 

88 


JEgistuvs 

There  is  the  sounding  of  a  world  of  troubles 
Through  all  our  ears,  for  thee.     What  other  kind 
Of  Orpheus  art  thou,  charming  with  thy  song 
Out  of  their  lairs  the  barking  mouths,  the  pack 
Insensible,  which  Orpheus  never  led  ? 
An  altered  government  will  mean  a  cage 
For  these  wild  ways. 

Chorus 

As  though  an  Argive  State 
Could  fashion  thee  its  tyrant !—  who  thyself 
Barest  not  to  do  the  deed  which  thou  hadst  planned, 
Deputing  murder — 

iEciSTHUS 

How  should  I,  suspect 
To  all  the  house  through  my  old  enmity, 
Make   veiled    approach  ?      The   woman's   chance   it 

was. 
Unquestioned.     Now  it  is  my  part  to  rule ; 
And  I,  with  this  man's  substance  to  my  hand. 
Shall  have  the  wherewithal  to  lay  on  him 
Who  lighter  rein  esteems  not,  what  shall  test 
His  champing  mettle,  and  the  bit  will  hold. 
Or  for  a  stable-fellow  he  shall  have 
The  kindless  sort,  and  dark  to  fast  upon. 
Until  his  eye  lack  fire. 

89 


Chorus 

This  man,  I  say, 
Thou'rt  not,  who  could  despoil  this  dead  man  of 
His  life,  unless  a  woman  did  it,  matching 
Thy  cowardice  with  her  poison-spirit,  marring 
The  place  of  home  and  its  divinity 
Enshrined.     Orestes  !—  Father,  looks  thy  son 
On  light  of  day  that  shall  endure  until 
He  make  a  night  of  death  to  hide  these  twain  ? 

^GISTHUS 

What  meanest  thou  ?     Whether  word  or  action  touch 
Thy  meaning  nearest,  thou  shalt  know,  and  soon. 
— Out,  out,  my  waiting  swords  !    Your  time  has  come. 
[Enter  Armed  Followers  of  ^Egisthus. 

Chorus 

Out,  out ! — 'That  means,  prepare  !     Out,  every  man, 
his  sword, 

iEciSTHUS 

I,  too,  shall  have  a  hand  at  last,  come  death  to  me ! 

Chorus 
Now  bring  thy  word  to  pass,  put  it  to  fortune's  proof. 

Clytemnestra 

No  more — O,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  no  more. 
My  friend,  what  we  have  gathered  should  suffice, 

90 


Where  all  we  gather  is  but  pain  and  death. 
Old  men,  go  to  your  homes.    And  thou,  too,  go  ! 
Before  'tis  done,  and  then  no  more  to  do. 
But  all  to  suffer.     Besides,  there  is  to  make 
Secure  what's  done.     'Tis  not  in  us  to  show 
Unwounded  courage  fit  for  further  bout 
With  fate.    And  if  this  last  counsel  of  mine 
Seem  but  a  woman's,  it  is  better  so. 

-^GISTHUS 

Not  prune  the  rampant  growth  of  tongues  like  these  ? 
— ^Their  words,  if  left  to  fall,  a  dangerous  seed 
May  prove.     It  is  not  wisdom  in  a  king 
To  leave  them  there. 


Chorus 

'Tis  not  in  Argive  bom 
To  own  thee  king. 

-^GISTHUS 

Put  off  to  other  days 
The  issue  we  shall  join. 

Chorus 

Divinity 
Direct  Orestes  to  this  aim  ! 

91 


iEciSTHUS 

Ah,  he  1 
The  fugitive  picks  up  a  scanty  meal  J 

Of  hope.  ^ 

Chorus 
And  thou — thou  battenest  here,  the  while 
Sick  Justice  spurns  the  board. 

I 

iEciSTHUS  ^ 

Has  he  a  fool's 
Impunity  to  speak  again  ? 

Chorus 

Canst  crow. 
Thou,  on  thy  roost,  thou  and  thy  mate  beside. 

Clytemnestra 

Have  patience  such  as  words  like  these  do  not  deserve. 
For  thou  and  I  need  much  to  order  all  things  well. 


Printed  by  Maxell,  Wttson  &  Vin^y,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury. 


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